THE 
REAL  THING 

JOHN  KENDRICK  BANGS 


EXCH 


I 


EXCHANGE 


THE  REAL  THING 

AND  THREE  OTHER  FARCES 


BY 

JOHN    KENDRICK    BANGS 

ILLUSTRATED 


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Copyright,  1909,  by  HAKPEK  &  BROTHERS. 


jtll  rights  reserved. 
Published  October,  1909. 


EXCHANGE 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

THE  REAL  THING i 

THE  HARRINGTONS'  "AT  HOME"  ...  33 

THE  RETURN  OF  CHRISTMAS      ....  63 

THE  SIDE-SHOW 95 


988940 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

THE    REAL    THING Frontispiece 

"THERE'S  MANNY  A  FOINE-SPOKEN 
LADY  OUTSIDE  THAT  AIN'T  IN 
TH' SOCIAL  RE-GISTHER"  .  .  Facing  p.  18 

"OF  COURSE,  GRIMMINS.  MY  MIS 
TAKE"  "  66 

"ARE  YOU  GOING  TO  PERMIT  YOUR 
CHILDREN  TO  PLAY  MARBLES 
WITH  PEARLS?"  .  ...  "82 


THE    REAL   THING 


THE    REAL    THING 


DRAMATIS  PERSONS 

MICHAEL  MAGINNIS,  proprietor  of  The  Employers'  Bureau. 
MRS.  THADDEUS  PERKINS,  a  lady  of  meekness  and  spirit. 
MRS.  DELANCEY  PELL,  an  employer  in  search  of  a  place. 
MRS.  BROWNING,  a  sufferer  from  domestic  complications. 
MRS.  HAWKINS,  a  discouraged  seeker  after  help'u  \  J  ^  \ 
MRS.  BRIDGET  O'HARA,  a  culinary  star,  auburn- fated 

and  haughty.     Not  French. 

BILL,  a  bell-boy.  >t    ,    •>' ,'^  ,' 

TIME. — To-day,  or  possibly  to-morrow  and  the  day  after. 


SCENE. — The  office  of  the  Maginnis  Em 
ployers'  Bureau,  498  Fifth  Avenue, 
New  York  city.  It  is  a  large  square, 
room,  barely  furnished.  At  rear  right 
and  left  are  two  windows,  between 
which  there  stands  a  roll-top  desk,  with 
a  swivel  chair  in  front  of  it.  At  right 
rear  entrance  is  a  swinging  glass  door 
opening  upon  corridor,  with  the  name 
of  the  agency  upon  it  in  gold  letters. 


2  The  Real  Thing 

At  left  middle  entrance  is  an  ordinary 
door  leading  into  another  apartment. 
It  is  labelled  "Dressing  Room."  On 
either  side  of  this  door  are  rows  of 
camp-stools,  about  twelve  in  number, 
all  but  one  of  which  are  occupied  by 
fashionably  dressed  women,  looking 
very  tired,  worried,  indignant,  or  anx 
ious.  Some  of  them  are  fanning  them 
selves  nervously.  One  is  reading  the 
\  advertising  section  of  a  newspaper. 
The  curtain  rising  discovers  this  pict- 
;«<r£  arid  group,  with  Maginnis  busy 
writing  at  the  desk,  his  back  to  the 
audience.  An  appreciable  pause  fol 
lows,  at  the  end  of  which  he  rises,  takes 
up  the  manuscript  he  has  been  writing, 
scratches  his  chin,  and  scans  the  paper. 
Taps  a  bell  on  his  desk,  and  walks 
slowly  to  front  of  stage. 

Maginnis.  There,  that  ought  to  fetch 
'em.  (Reads  aloud.')  Wanted,  Employ 
ers  of  Domestic  Assistance.  Only  strict- 


The  Real  Thing  3 

ly  first-class  people  need  apply.  Ref 
erences  required.  The  Maginnis  Em 
ployers'  Agency,  498  Fifth  Avenue,  New 
York.  (Returns  to  desk  and  taps  the 
bell  again.}  Where  the  dickens  is  that 
boy?  (Bangs  bell  hard  and  continuous 
ly.  Finally,  there  being  no  response,  he 
goes  to  door  opening  into  corridor  and 
calls.}  Bill! 

Bill  (from  without}.     Yep! 

Maginnis.  What  are  you  doing- 
playing  craps  again? 

Bill.  Yep. 

Maginnis.  Well,  come  here.  I  want 
you.  (Returns  to  centre  of  stage.} 
They're  all  alike.  Even  the  errand- 
boys  aren't  willing  to  attend  to  busi 
ness. 

Enter  Bill. 

Bill  (airily}.  Wotcher  want? 

Maginnis.  Don't  you  talk  to  me  that 
way,  you  little  scamp! 

Bill.  Aw,  go  on,  Mister  Maginnis. 
(Grins.)  I  don't  mean  no  thin'  by  it. 


4  The  Real  Thing 

Maginnis.  Well,  don't  you  forget 
that  I'm  your  boss,  Bill.  Just  because 
your  mother  is  a  successful  cook  is  no 
reason  why  you  should  take  on  high 
and  mighty  airs  with  me.  See? 

Bill  (grinning).  Dat's  all  right,  Mister 
Maginnis — but  I  ain't  just  a  hired  man, 
neither.  I'm  in  my  business  just  like 
youse  is  in  yours,  an'  I'll  treat  you 
right  s'long  as  you  treat  me  right.  See  ? 

Maginnis.  You're  a  chip  of  the  old 
block,  Bill.  I'd  bounce  you  in  a  minute 
if  I  could  do  any  better.  But  come, 
now,  get  your  hat  and  take  this  down 
to  the  Herald  office. 

Bill.  Yep — that  buildin'  in  front  of 
the  teayter? 

Maginnis.  Yes.  Tell  them  I  want 
that  printed  in  the  society  section  next 
Sunday,  where  it  will  be  read  by  all  the 
first  families,  and  in  big  type. 

Bill.  Yep.  You  mean  in  where  it 
says  Mrs.  Bolivar  Jones  is  visitin'  Mrs. 
Willie  K.  Moneypacker  at  Nooport? 


The  Real  Thing  5 

Maginnis.  That's  it,  Bill.  Tell  'em 
to  give  it  a  good  position  there  and  to 
make  out  a  bill  for  it,  and  you  pay  it 
with  this. 

[Hands  Bill  a  twenty-dollar  note. 
Bill.  Do  I  keep  the  change? 

[Grins. 

Maginnis.  Yes — keep  it  until  you  get 
back  here,  and  then  I'll  take  charge  of 
it.  Now  get  along,  and  don't  let  any 
grass  grow  under  your  feet. 

[Bill  walks  to  the  corner  of  the  room 
and  picks  a  hat  up  from  the  -floor 
and  walks  out,  whistling  as  he 
goes. 

Maginnis  (turning  to  ladies}.  Good- 
morning,  ladies. 

Ladies.  Good-morning,  Mr.  Maginnis. 
Maginnis.  Sorry  to  keep  you  waiting, 
but  servants  nowadays  aren't  either 
frequent  or  early  risers.  We  are  ex 
pecting  a  half-dozen  in  this  morning, 
however,  and  I  trust  you  will  be  able  to 
• — er — arrange  with  them  satisfactorily. 


6  The  Real  Thing 

First  Lady.  I  don't  mind  waiting,  Mr. 
Maginnis.  (Laughs.)  I  am  getting  quite 
used  to  it. 

Second  Lady.  I've  been  waiting  three 
months  for  a  cook,  but  it  has  been  real 
restful;  though  I  will  say  I'd  like  to 
know  what  has  become  of  the  children 
all  this  while. 

[A  knock  on  the  corridor  door  is  heard. 

Maginnis.  Come  in. 

Enter  Mrs.   Thaddeus  Perkins,   timidly. 
She  approaches  Maginnis. 

Mrs.  Perkins.   Is  this — Mr.  Maginnis  ? 

Maginnis.  Yes,  madam. 

Mrs.  Perkins.  I  understand  you  have 
an  employment  bureau  here,  and  I  have 
come — 

Maginnis.  Not  an  employment  bureau 
madam.  An  employers'  bureau.  There 
is  a  difference.  We  don't  provide  em 
ployment  for  servants,  but  employers 
of  domestic  service  for  those  who  are 
willing  to  accept  household  positions. 

Mrs.  Perkins.  I  don't  quite  understand. 


The  Real  Thing  7 

Maginnis.  I  will  gladly  explain.  Now 
adays  things  are  not  as  they  used  to  be. 
Formerly  employers  went  to  intelligence- 
offices  to  procure  cooks  and  waitresses 
and  maids  from  a  long  line  of  persons 
seeking  employment. 

Mrs.  Perkins.  Yes — I  know.  I  have 
visited — oh,  quite  a  few. 

Maginnis.  Well,  our  establishment, 
owing  to  certain  social  changes  of  late 
years,  has  adopted  a  different  method 
—my  own  invention,  I  am  proud  to  say. 
Here  we  keep  not  servants  for  employers 
to  choose,  but  employers  for  domestic 
artists  to  choose.  There  aren't  any 
servants  any  more.  I  hope  you  see  the 
point  of  difference. 

Mrs.  Perkins.  Oh  yes,  indeed!  It  is 
not  too  subtle  for  my  eye.  Indeed,  I 
have  seen  it  coming  for  some  time.  But 
how  do  you  manage  ?  Suppose  I  needed 
a  cook — which  I  assure  you  I  do — what 
must  I  do  to  get  one  here  ? 

Maginnis.  First  you  enter  your  name 


8  The  Real  Thing 

on  our  books,  for  which  we  charge  a  min 
imum  fee  of  $25.  Then  you  hand  us  your 
references  from  servants  previously  in 
your  employ,  with  a  statement  of  your 
standing  in  the  financial  and  social 
world,  verified  by  a  notary's  certificate, 
and  a  note  from  the  cashier  of  your  bank 
saying  that  your  account  is  good — 

Mrs.  Perkins.  Dear  me!  Isn't  that 
going  a  trifle  far? 

Maginnis.  Maids  demand  it  these 
times,  madam,  and  we  must  make  the 
best  of  it.  It  is  a  condition,  not  a 
theory,  that  confronts  us. 

Mrs.  Perkins.  I  see.    And  then  what  ? 

Maginnis.  If,  upon  the  whole,  your 
references  are  satisfactory,  we  assign 
one  of  these  camp-stools  to  your  use 
for  a  period  of  two  weeks,  and  let  you 
occupy  it  until  you  have  successfully 
accomplished  what  you  wish. 

Mrs.  Perkins  (eagerly}.  You  guaran 
tee  me  a  cook? 

Maginnis.  We  guarantee  nothing  save 


The  Real  Thing  9 

your  undisputed  use  of  the  camp-stool 
for  the  period  of  'your  subscription — 
$25  for  two  weeks,  $50  a  month. 

Mrs.  Perkins.  But — Mr.  Maginnis — 
where  does  the  cook  come  in?  That's 
what  I — 

Maginnis.  Right  through  that  door, 
madam.  [Pointing  to  glass  door. 

Mrs.  Perkins.  Oh,  I  don't  mean  that. 
I  mean  about  when  may  I  expect  to  see 
a  cook  ? 

Maginnis.  That  I  cannot  say.  All  I 
can  say  is  that  the  most  aristocratic 
domestic  servants  in  the  city  come  here 
looking  for  employers.  One,  two,  five, 
seven,  twenty-seven,  may  be  in  at  any 
moment,  and  then  again  there  may  not 
be  any  in  for  several  days.  We  have 
no  control  over  their  movements. 

Mrs.  Perkins.  Still,  if  I  subscribe,  the 
chances  are  that  I  shall  get  what  I  want  ? 

Maginnis.  That  will  all  depend  on 
yourself,  madam.  The  best  we  can  do 
is  to  afford  you  an  opportunity. 


io  The  Real  Thing 

Mrs.  Perkins.  Well — I  don't  know.  I 
— I  don't  know  what  else  to  do.  We're 
taking  all  our  meals  at  a  hotel  now,  and 
it  is  not  only  awkward  but  expensive. 
The  children  have  such  large  appetites, 
and  are  never  satisfied  with  less  than 
three  desserts. 

Maginnis.  I  shall  be  very  glad  to 
have  your  name  on  my  list,  and  I  will 
do  all  I  can  to  get  you  a  position. 

Mrs.  Perkins.  A  position  ? 

Maginnis.  I  speak  the  language  of 
the  condition,  madam.  Yes — a  posi 
tion,  as  mistress  to  a  cook. 

Mrs.  Perkins.  Oh  yes — I'd  forgotten. 
Well  (opening  her  purse) ,  here  is  twenty- 
five  dollars.  My  name  is  Mrs.  Perkins- 
Mrs.  Thaddeus  Perkins,  of  Montclair— 

Maginnis.  Hm!     Country? 

Mrs.  Perkins.  Yes;  you — you  won't 
keep  me  out  on  that  account,  I  hope. 
We're  quite  as  much  human,  beings  as 
city  people,  you  know. 

Maginnis.  No,    madam.     Of    course 


The  Real  Thing  n 

not — but  our  subscription  for  country 
people  —  commuters,  we  call  them 
(laughs  pleasantly] — is  ten  dollars  extra. 
You  see,  the  service  rendered  is  so  much 
greater.  You  perhaps  don't  realize  how 
hard  it  is  to  get  girls  who  are  willing  to 
go.  out  of  the  city. 

Mrs.  Perkins.  Oh  yes,  I  do.  I've  kept 
house  for  a  number  of  years,  Mr.  Magin- 
nis.  There  is  the  extra  ten.  (Hands 
Maginnis  a  ten-dollar  bill.)  My  bank  is 
the  Wheat  Exchange,  and  fortunately 
I  have  my  book,  just  written  up. 
(Produces  it.)  See  ?  It  shows  a  balance 
yesterday  of  $1146.38 — though  how 
they  make  it  out  I  must  say  I  don't 
know.  I  was  sure  I  had  $1238.42. 

Maginnis  (taking  the  book) .  I  will  send 
to  the  bank  and  have  it  verified.  Now 
as  to  your  social  position,  Mrs.  Perkins, 
I  happen  to  know  about  that.  My 
cousin  used  to  be  your  husband's  father's 
coachman.  But  references  from  your 
previous  servants — have  you  any? 


12  The  Real  Thing 

Mrs.  Perkins.  Why,  no  —  I  never 
heard  of  such  a  thing. 

Maginnis.  I  suppose  you  don't  know 
where  your  last  cook  is  this  morning,  so 
that  I  might  reach  her  on  the  'phone  ? 

Mrs.  Perkins.  Yes — she's  at  the  New 
York  Inebriate  Asylum — 

Maginnis.  Thank  you.  I'll  communi 
cate  with  her.  Her  name  was  ? 

Mrs.  Perkins.  Flaherty  —  Nora  Fla 
herty. 

Maginnis  (jotting  down  name  and  ad 
dress).  Thank  you.  And  you  parted 
on  good  terms? 

Mrs.  Perkins.  Well — you  might  say 
so.  She  wept  on  my  shoulder  and  told 
me  she'd  always  regard  me  as  a  mother, 
but  at  the  time  she  was  very — 

Maginnis.  I  understand. 

Mrs.  Perkins.  It  required  four  police 
men  to  get  her  to  leave.  (Laughs.)  Per 
haps  that's  a  sign  that  she  was  attached 
to  the  place. 

Maginnis.   It  may  be  so.     Anyhow,  it 


The  Real  Thing  13 

will  be  all  right,  Mrs.  Perkins.  If  I  can 
get  a  good  word  from  her  for  you,  it  will 
of  course  be  of  great  assistance  in  getting 
you  your  place.  And  if  I  can't  (looks 
about  mysteriously),  well,  there  are  other 
ways  of  fixing  it.  (Confidentially.)  We 
have  blank  references  always  ready  for 
those  that  are  otherwise  unprovided. 

Mrs.  Perkins.  But  —  Mr.  Maginnis — 
that  isn't  quite  honest,  is  it  ?  Forged 
references  ? 

Maginnis.  Compared  with  the  gen 
eral  run  of  references,  madam,  which 
ladies  used  to  give  departing  servants,  I 
think  it  is.  Moreover,  our  blank  ref 
erences  are  not  forged.  They  are  all 
signed  by  cooks  in  good  standing,  and 
have  been  purchased  by  us  for  use  in 
this  particular  business.  We  leave  only 
the  date  line  and  the  employer's  name 
blank,  to  be  filled  in  later. 

Mrs.  Perkins.  Oh,  well,  I  suppose  all's 
fair  in  love  and  domestic  service — aad 
I  simply  must  have  a  cook! 


14  The  Real  Thing 

Maginnis  (walking  to  empty  camp- 
stool}.  This  is  your  place,  Mrs.  Perkins. 

Mrs.  Perkins  (sitting).  Thank  you. 

Maginnis  (looking  down  the  line). 
Excuse  me,  Mrs.  Pell,  but  you  look  a 
trifle  dowdy  this  morning.  I'd  prink 
up  a  bit  if  I  were  you.  These  girls  are 
very  particular. 

Mrs.  Pell.  Very  well,  Mr.  Maginnis. 
I  had  to  hurry  so  to  get  here  in  time. 

[Exit  into  outer  chamber. 

Maginnis.  And  you,  Mrs.  Browning 
— don't  you  think  it  would  improve 
your  chances  if  your  gloves  weren't  out 
at  the  finger-tips?  I  would  suggest  a 
new  pair. 

Mrs.  Browning.  I  can't  afford  a  new 
pair. 

Maginnis.  And  do  you  expect  to  get 
a  thirty-dollar  housemaid  when  your 
personal  appearance  suggests  that  you 
haven't  got  thirty  cents? 

Mrs.  Browning  (bursting  into  tears')- 
It's  because  I  have  to  pay  thirty  dollars 


The  Real  Thing  15 

for  a  housemaid  that  I  can't  afford  new 
gloves. 

Maginnis  (kindly).  Well,  you  should 
have  spoken  to  me  about  it.  How  was 
I  to  know?  What  is  your  size? 

Mrs.  Browning  (wiping  her  eyes). 
Fours. 

Maginnis.  I  will  lend  you  a  pair. 
Mrs.  Browning  (confidentially) .  Better 
make  them  sixes,  Mr.  Maginnis. 

[Maginnis  goes  to  desk,  opens  drawer, 
and    takes    out    a    large    box    of 
women's    gloves.     Selects    a    pair 
and  hands  them  to  Mrs.  Browning. 
They  are  flaming  red. 
Mrs.  Browning.  Mercy!      Why,    Mr. 
Maginnis — what  an  awful,  awful  color! 
Maginnis  (laughing).  Take    my    ad 
vice  and  wear  them,  Mrs.  Browning.     I 
have  sat  in  this  game  for  fifteen  years 
and  I  know  the  taste  of  our  patrons. 
Those  gloves  will  help  you — you  see  if 
they  don't.     I'd  take  that  frown  off  my 
face  if  I  were  you,  Mrs.  Hawkins, 


16  The  Real  Thing 

Mrs.  Hawkins.  Well,  I  just  simply 
can't.  I  haven't  had  my  breakfast, 
and  my  head  aches,  and  the  baby's  got 
the  measles — 

[The  other  ladies  draw  away  in  con 
sternation. 

Maginnis.  Then  you'd  better  go  home. 
I'll  give  you  an  extra  day  at  the  end  of 
your  subscription,  but  I  tell  you  right 
now  that  you  won't  get  a  waitress  in  this 
place  while  you  look  so  like  a  meat-axe. 
Better  go  home  and  rest  up  and  come 
back  to-morrow. 

Mrs.  Hawkins.  It's  very  kind  of 
you,  Mr.  Maginnis.  (Rises  and  walks  to 
door.  As  she  reaches  it  she  turns  and  calls 
back.}  If  anybody  should  come  that 
you  think — 

[Bumps     backward     into     Bridget 
O'Hara,     who     enters     haughtily 
and  dressed  to  the  nines. 
Mrs.  Hawkins.  Oh,  I  beg  your  par 
don. 

Bridget  (indignantly).  G'wanwidyez! 


The  Real  Thing  17 

Phwoy  don't  yez  look  where  yez  is 
goin'  ?  Tis  a  pretty  kittle  o'  fish  whin 
a  la-ady  can't  enter  a  glash  dure  widout 
havin'  hersilf  shtove  in  before  boy  wim- 
men  walkin'  out  behoind. 

[Mrs.  Hawkins  retires  in  confusion. 
Maginnis  grins  and  walks  ob 
sequiously  forward  and  bows  to 
Bridget. 

Bridget.  Good-mar nin'  to  ye,  Magin 
nis.  Have  yez  anny  impl'yers  fer  me  to 
luk  over  this  marnin'  ? 

Maginnis.  Yes,  Mrs.  O'Hara.  I  have 
several. 

Bridget  (glancing  at  the  row  of  nervous 
women).  Sure  is  thim  they? 

Maginnis.  Yes,  Mrs.  O'Hara.  Three 
of  them  are  anxious  to  be  employed  by 
a  culinary  artist — 

Bridget.  Anxious  is  ut  ?  Sure  they  do 
well  to  be  anxious.  Do  yez  know  'em  ? 

Maginnis.  They  are  all  of  irreproach 
able  social  standing. 

Bridget.  Ye're  sure  about  that,  ar-rre 


1 8  The  Real  Thing 

ye  ?    There's  manny  a  foine-spoken  lady 
outside  that  ain't  in  th'  social  re-gisther. 

Maginnis.  I  have  looked  them  all  up, 
Mrs.  O'Hara,  and  I  know  they're  all 
right.  Would  you  like  to  speak  to  one 
of  them  ? 

Bridget.  Sure.  Oi  t'ink  oi'll  hov  a 
worrud  wid  the  wan  wid  the  pink  mitts. 
She's  a  good-looker. 

Maginnis.  Mrs.   Browning. 

Mrs.  Browning  (rising).  Yes,  sir. 
[Bridget  sits  and  gazes  critically  at 
Mrs.  Browning,  who  stands,  more 
or  less  timidly,  before  her. 

Bridget.  Are  yez  an  impl'yer? 

Mrs.  Browning.  Y-yes. 

Bridget.  How  many  years  ? 

Mrs.  Browning.  Seventeen. 

Bridget.  How  many  culinary  la-adies 
hov  yez  had  in  the  lasht  foive? 

Mrs.  Browning.  Why — let  me  see. 
(Counting  on  her  fingers.)  There  was 
Jane,  and  Mary,  and  Clementine,  and 
Emma,  and  Katie,  and  Mary — 


THERE  S    MANNY   A   KOINE-SPOKEN    LADY   OUTSIDE    THAT 

AIN'T   IN  TII'  SOCIAL  RE-GISTIIER" 


The  Real  Thing  19 

Bridget.  Yez  said  that  wance  be- 
fure. 

Mrs.  Browning.  Well,  there  have  been 
four  Marys  altogether — Mary  Dunnigan, 
Mary  Finnegan,  Mary  Flanigan,  and 
Mary  Madigan. 

Bridget.  Niver  moind  their  names. 
Ginrally,  how  many? 

Mrs.  Browning.  About  thirty-nine. 

Bridget  (sarcastic).  Ye've  had  a  larrge 
experience.  Oi  don't  t'ink  ye'll  do. 
Mr.  Maginnis,  give  me  somebody  that 
a  la-ady  can  live  wid. 

Mrs.  Browning.  If  you'll  only  come 
and  give  me  a  trial — 

Bridget.  That  '11  do  fur  you.  Oi  ain't 
lookin'  f'r  a  plaace  to  shtop  overnight. 
Oi  want  a  risidence  that's  handy,  wid  a 
chance  f'r  a  long  lease. 

[Mrs.    Browning    retires    crestfallen 
and  sits  down. 

Bridget.  Me  toime's  limited,  Maginnis. 
Sure  an'  oi  hov  a  bridge-party  for  th' 
afthernoon.  Malone  doied  yisterday, 


20  The  Real  Thing 

an'  we're  goin'  to  bridge  him  over  instid 
of  a  wake.     Have  yez  nothin'  else  ? 

Maginnis.  I  think  I  have.  (Goes  to 
door  and  calls.)  Mrs.  Pell,  step  this 
way,  please. 

[Minces  toward  centre. 

Bridget  (laughing).  Sure  she'd  have 
a  harrd  toime  steppin'  thot  way,  Ma 
ginnis. 

Mrs.  Pell  (at  doorway).  Me? 

[At   nod  from   Maginnis   she   walks 
forward. 

Bridget.  Oi  loikes  yer  looks.  What's 
yer  name? 

Mrs.  Pell.  Mrs.  Delancey  Pell. 

Bridget.  Pill  is  ut  ? 

Mrs.  Pell  (bravely).  No — Pell — not 
pill. 

Bridget  Sure  oi  know — oi  know.  Oi 
said  Pill,  not  pill.  Pay,  ay,  douhble  ill 
— Pill.  Where  do  yez  live? 

Mrs.  Pell.  Morristown,  New  Jersey. 

Bridget.  Maginnis — take  her  away. 
D'yez  t'ink  oi'm  old  Napoleon  Boney- 


The  Real  Thing  21 

party  that  oi'd  want  to  spind  me  de- 
cloinin'  years  in  the  soobubs  ?  It's  New 
York  or  nothin' — d'ye  undherstand? 

Maginnis.  I — I  beg  your  pardon,  Mrs. 
O'Hara.  I  understood  Mrs.  Pell  to  say 
she  lived  in  town  in  winter — 

Mrs.  Pell.  I  do,  Mr.  Maginnis.  I 
want  a  co — culinary  artist  for  my  town 
house. 

Bridget.  Aha!  Thot's  different.  Anny 
children  ? 

Mrs.  Pell.  Three  boys. 

Bridget.  That's  a  larrge  family — if  yer 
husband's  around  much. 

Mrs.  Pell.  The  boys  go  to  boarding- 
school,  Mrs.  O'Hara,  and  my  husband 
and  I  spend  January  and  February  at 
Palm  Beach. 

Bridget.  How  about  October,  and 
Novimber,  and  Decimber? 

Mrs.  Pell.  We  usually  remain  at 
Morristown  until  Thanksgiving. 

Bridget.  Oi  see — so  that  ye'd  raly 
only  need  me  active  assistance  as  th' 


22  The  Real  Thing 

gineral  director  of  your  kitchen  through 
Decimber  ? 

Mrs.  Pell  Yes,  Mrs.  O'Hara.  The 
other  eleven  months  of  the  year  you 
would  be  comparatively  free. 

Bridget.  Oi  see.  Do  oi  hov  anny 
toime  off  in  Decimber  ? 

Mrs.  Pell.  I  think  we  could  arrange 
it  if  you  should  decide  to  come. 

Bridget.  Who  does  the  cookin'  fer  the 
rist  of  the  ladies  and  gintlemen  that 
look  afther  your  house  ? 

Mrs.  Pell.  Well— I— I  hadn't  thought 
of  that.  I  have  always  supposed  that 
our  cook — that  is,  our  general  kitchen 
director — would — 

Bridget.  Ye  haven't  been  housekeepin' 
long,  that's  plain.  Ye  don't  suppose 
that  oi  would  cook  me  own  meals,  for 
instance,  do  yez  ? 

Mrs.  Pell.  I  really  don't  see  why  not. 

Bridget.  Do  yez  cook  yer  own? 

Mrs.  Pell.  Of  course  not. 

Bridget  (coldly).  Thin  why  should  oi? 


The  Real  Thing  23 

Mrs.  Pell  (decisively").  Because  you're 
a  cook.  That's  why. 

Bridget  (sharply).  Maginnis,  take  her 
away.  Oi  tould  you  oi  wanted  a  civil 
impl'yer.  Mrs.  Dildancy  Pill  has  a  tim- 
per  an'  a  sassy  tongue.  Show  me 
that  little  blond  lady  on  the  ind  seat. 
Oi  t'ink  oi'll  try  a  greenhorn,  an'  teach 
her  me  ways. 

Maginnis.  Mrs.  Perkins,  please  come 
this  way. 

[Mrs.  Perkins  steps  forward  briskly. 
She  has  been  watching  what  has 
gone  before,  first  with  apprehensive 
eyes,  then  with  astonishment,  and 
finally  with  wrath. 
Bridget.  Phwat's  yer  na — 
Mrs.  Perkins    (suddenly).    Stand    up 
when  you  speak  to  me. 

Bridget  (with  a  nervous  jump).  Phwat's 
that? 

Mrs.  Perkins.  Stand  up.  I  am  not 
used  to  having  servants  sit  while  I  am 
talking  to  them.  [Bridget  slowly  rises. 


24  The  Real  Thing 

Bridget.  Sure,  young  lady,  but  yez 
have  nerve — 

Mrs.  Perkins.  Never  mind  what  I 
have.  I  am  here  to  find  out  what  you 
have  to  offer.  Do  you  want  a  place, 
or  don't  you? 

[Takes  chair  Bridget  has  vacated. 
The  other  ladies  draw  back  in 
amazement  and  some  consterna 
tion. 

Bridget.  Sure  oi  do.  (Meekly  at  first, 
then,  her  courage  returning.)  Oi'll  have 
to  shpeak  about  rifirences.  Hov  yez — 

Mrs.  Perkins.  You  certainly  will  if 
you  expect  to  get  a  place  in  my  house. 
(Sharply.)  Why  did  you  leave  your 
last  place? 

Bridget  (subsiding).  Oi  hoven't  lift  ut, 
ma'am.  Oi'm  just  lookin*  around. 

Mrs.  Perkins.  Well  —  I  need  a  cook 
and  if  you  can  cook  and  will  cook  and 
your  references  are  satisfactory,  I  may 
take  you.  I  have  eight  children,  and 
keep  only  two  other  girls.  We  entertain 


The  Real  Thing  25 

a  great  many  people,  and  my  husband 
is  generally  home  for  three  meals  a 
day. 

Bridget  (sympathetically).  Out  of  a 
job,  ma'am? 

Mrs.  Perkins  (ignoring  the  question). 
We  breakfast  at  seven,  and  when  we 
don't  have  hot  biscuits  we  have  rice  or 
buckwheat  cakes ;  we  live  six  miles  from 
a  railway  station ;  and  all  the  washing  is 
done  in  the  house  —  one-third  by  the 
cook,  one-third  by  the  waitress,  and  one- 
third  by  the  up-stairs  girl.  The  work 
is  divided. 

Bridget  (shrinking).  'Tis  rather  hard, 
ma'am. 

Mrs.  Perkins.  It's  very  hard,  but  the 
work  has  got  to  be  done.  I  insist  upon 
the  kitchen  being  thoroughly  scrubbed 
three  times  a  week — 

Bridget.  Would  oi  have  to  look  after 
the  furnace,  ma'am  ? 

Mrs.  Perkins.  No — we  have  a  man 
from  outside  to  do  that. 


26  The  Real  Thing 

Bridget  (simpering) .  So  oi  could  count 
some  on  gintlemin's  company — 

Mrs.  Perkins.  Yes.  Rastus  is  a  gen 
tleman,  if  his  skin  is  black. 

Bridget.  Saints  preserve  us!  a  na — 

Mrs.  Perkins.  Exactly.  What  wages 
have  you  been  getting? 

Bridget.  Fifty  dollars. 

Mrs.  Perkins.  That's  preposterous. 
I'm  sure  you're  not  worth  it.  No  cook 
is.  I  shall  not  pay  more  than  twenty. 

Bridget.  Well,  thot's  good— if  ut's 
paid.  Oi — oi  don't  get  me  fifty,  ma'am, 
— oi'm  only  promised  ut.  Twinty  in 
hand  is  worth  a  thousand  that  ye'll 
niver  get.  That's  why  oi'm  lookin' 
fer  a  change. 

Mrs.  Perkins.  I  see. 

Bridget.  The  boss  spinds  so  much  on 
his  artymechoo-choo  oi  t'ink  he's  busted. 

Mrs.  Perkins.  It  often  happens.  Now 
as  to  days  out — you  can  have  every 
third  Thursday  from  breakfast  on,  only 
you  must  clean  up  your  kitchen  before 


The  Real  Thing  27 

you  go.  There  will  be  no  Sundays  off  at 
all — only  Sunday  afternoons.  We  have 
midday  dinner  on  Sunday,  but  a  cold 
supper,  which  the  waitress  can  handle 
alone.  This  will  give  you  every  other 
Sunday  afternoon  and  evening  from 
four  o'clock  on.  On  the  other  Sundays 
you  will  have  to  wait  at  supper.  Have 
you  any  references? 

Bridget.  Yis,  ma'am. 

Mrs.  Perkins.  Let  me  see  them. 
[Bridget  fumbles  about  in  her  dress 
and  produces  a  bundle  of  letters. 

Mrs.  Perkins.  Mr.  Maginnis,  have 
these  been  looked  up  ? 

Maginnis.  Y-yes,  ma'am.  I — I  look 
ed  them  up  under  the  old  system. 
They're  all  right. 

Mrs.  Perkins.  Well,  then  (to  Bridget) 
— er — what  is  your  name? 

Bridget.  Mrs.  O'Hara,  ma'am. 

Mrs.  Perkins.  I  mean  your  first  name 

Bridget.  Bridget. 

Mrs.  Perkins.  Very  well  then,  Bridget, 


28  The  Real  Thing 

you  may  come  to  me  this  afternoon  if 
you  wish — twenty  dollars,  cooking, wash 
ing,  and  everything  else  as  I  have  told 
you.  What  is  it  to  be — yes  or  no  ? 

Bridget  (hesitating  between  pride  and 
humility}.  Sure  an'  oi — •  Begorry,  oi'll 
take  the  job,  for  oi  like  yez.  (With 
enthusiasm.}  Misther  Maginnis,  ye've 
kept  your  word.  Ye've  found  the  rale 
t'ing  that  oi've  bin  lookin'  for. 

Maginnis.  I'm  glad,  Mrs.  O'Hara,  if 
my  effort— 

Bridget.  Ah,  shtop  ut,  Mike.  Call  me 
Bridget.  That's  (nodding  toward  Mrs. 
Perkins)  a  la-ady,  but  th'  rest  of  'em 
(with  scornful  glances  at  line  on  camp- 
stools},  they's  amachoors. 

Mrs.  Perkins  (looking  at  watch} .  You'd 
better  hurry,  Bridget.  Our  train  leaves 
at  two -thirty,  and  it's  twelve  now. 
Foot  of  Twenty-third  Street  and  North 
River.  Be  prompt,  for  I  sha'n't  wait 
for  you. 

Bridget.  Yis,  ma'am.     Oi'll  be  there. 


The  Real  Thing  29 

(Walks  to  the  door.     As  she  gets  there  she 
turns  and  looks  again  at  Mrs.  Perkins.) 
If  there  was  more  loike  her,  there'd  be 
no  domistic  problem.     It's  thim  imita 
tion  impl'yers  that's  roonin'   the  busi 
ness.  [Exit. 
[Mrs.    Perkins    drops    in    a    chair, 
fainting.     The  others  spring  to  her 
assistance.     Maginnis  gives  her  a 
glass  of  water  and  she  revives. 
Mrs.    Pell.    It   was   wonderful,   mad 
am. 

Mrs.  Perkins  (faintly).  But — I — I'm 
not  a  bit  like  that,  you  know. 

Maginnis.  Well,  Mrs.  Perkins,  it  was 
a  magnificent  bluff.  Keep  it  up  and 
you'll  never  have  any  more  trouble  in 
getting  and  keeping  a  cook. 

[Mrs.     Perkins    smiles,    rises,    and 
walks  to  the  door.    Maginnis  gazes 
after  her  admiringly. 
Mrs.  Perkins.  Good-morning. 
Maginnis.   Good  -  morning,    madam. 
(Bows.      Mrs.    Perkins  exits.)      Ladies, 


jo  The  Real  Thing 

Bridget  was  right.     You'd  better  make 
a  note  of  it.     That's  the  real  thing. 

[Turns  and  goes  to  desk.  Sits.  The 
remaining  ladies  stiffen  up,  sum 
mon  up  their  nerves.  One  of 
them  laughingly  tries  her  muscle. 
They  all  sit  and  gaze  intently  at 
the  glass  door  like  tigresses  waiting 
to  pounce  upon  their  prey. 


CURTAIN 


THE    BARRINGTONS' 
"AT   HOME" 


THE    HARRINGTONS' 
"AT    HOME" 


DRAMATIS  PERSONS 

THE  REVEREND  EDWARD  BARRINGTON.  the  new  minister. 

MRS.  EDWARD  BARRINGTON,  his  wife. 

MRS.    RICHARD    DOWLING,    a    masterful   member   of   the 

congregation. 

JAMES,  the  latter' s  hired  man. 
JANE,  the  Harringtons'  maid. 

SCENE. — The  drawing-room  of  the  parson 
age  at  Wykeham-on-Hudson.  It  is  three 
o'clock  of  a  pleasant  May  afternoon. 
The  curtain  rising  discloses  the  drawing- 
room  daintily  arranged  for  the  minister's 
reception.  At  rear  centre  is  a  double 
door  hung  with  portieres.  At  left  is  a 
window,  before  which  stands  a  piano. 
At  right  is  a  door  leading  into  another 


34     The  Harringtons'  "At  Home" 

room.     A    Shakespeare    table    with    a 
lamp    upon    it   stands    in    the    corner 
alongside  of  the  door.     At  right  down 
stage  is  a  fireplace  and  chimney-breast, 
with  mantel-piece,  on  which  stand  several 
vases  filled  with  sweet  peas  and  some 
spring  flowers.     Over  the  mantel  hangs 
a    large    engraving    of    "Washington 
Crossing  the  Delaware"     On  the  op 
posite  side  of  th?    oom  is  a  table  with 
a  white  cloth,  and  tea  things  upon  it. 
There  are  several  chairs  arranged  about 
room.     Mrs.   Harrington  is  seen  bus 
tling  about  attended  by  Jane  and  ar 
ranging  bunches  of  flowers  in  various 
vases. 

Mrs.  Barrington  (as  she  puts  the 
finishing  touches  to  a  vase  on  the  mantel 
piece).  There,  Jane,  I  think  we  have 
at  last  succeeded  in  bringing  order  out 
of  chaos. 

Jane.  It  certainly  does  look  very  nice, 
mim.  More  like  home  than  it  was,  mim. 


The  Barringtons'  "At  Home"     35 

Mrs.  Barrington.  Much  more,  Jane.  I 
thought  we'd  never  do  it.  It  was  so  cold 
and  formal  when  we  moved  in  last 
Wednesday  it  didn't  look  to  me  as  if  we 
could  ever  make  a  home  of  it.  If  you 
ever  want  to  settle  permanently  any 
where,  Jane,  don't  marry  a  minis 
ter. 

Jane.  I  never  will,  mim. 

Mrs.  Barrington.  It  was  worth  while 
moving  the  piano.  Did  you  pay  the 
men? 

Jane.  Yes,  mim.  They  charged  fifty 
cents  apiece  just  for  shovin'  it  across  the 
floor — the  cheek  of  'em! 

Mrs.  Barrington.  It  was  worth  it, 
Jane.  It  looked  like  a  house  standing 
in  that  other  corner.  I  couldn't  abide 
it! 

Jane.  Yes — and  these  pictures  on  the 
wall  is  much  nicer  than  the  ones  they 
had.  They  ain't  so  solemnlike. 

Mrs.  Barrington.  I  think  so.  They  are 
much  daintier,  anyhow. 


}6    The  Harringtons'  "At  Home" 

[Enter  The  Reverend  Edward  Bar- 
rington  from  side  door. 

Barrington  (looking  about  the  room 
with  a  smile  of  pleasure).  What  a  trans 
formation!  I'd  hardly  know  it  for  the 
same  room. 

Mrs.  Barrington.  I  am  glad  you  are 
pleased,  Edward,  dear. 

Barrington.  Pleased  is  hardly  the 
word.  I'm  ecstatically  delighted.  I 
didn't  think  it  could  ever  be  done.  What 
a  clever  little  woman  you  are!  (Kisses 
her.)  After  all,  it's  the  woman's  touch 
that  makes  the  home.  When  I  think 
of  what  this  parlor  was  and  what  it  has 
become  I  am  forced  to  admit  that  you 
are  a  genius. 

Mrs.  Barrington  (surveying  her  work 
with  satisfaction}.  You're  a  dear,  good 
boy,  Edward,  but  don't  praise  me  too 
highly.  It  wasn't  hard  to  improve  the 
room,  and  I  couldn't  have  made  it  any 
worse  than  it  was. 

Barrington.   I   agree   with    the   latter 


The  Harringtons'  "At  Home"    37 

half  of  the  proposition,  my  dear.  I  see 
you've  moved  the  piano. 

Mrs.  Barrington.  I  hired  two  men  to 
do  it — it  cost  a  dollar,. but — 

Barrington.  It  would  have  been  cheap 
at  two  dollars.  I  nearly  broke  my  neck 
over  it  as  I  came  in  through  that  door  in 
the  dark  last  night.  What  pretty  flowers ! 

Mrs.  Barrington.  Aren't  they?  So 
fresh  and  delicate. 

Barrington.  So  much  better  than  those 
garish  red  and  blue  things  you  see  so 
often.  (Looking  around  again.}  It's 
all  as  sweet  and  dainty  as  can  be.  That 
is — (catching  sight  of  the  "  Washington 
Crossing  tlw  Delaware"  picture) — all  ex 
cept — may  I  criticise  just  a  little? 

Mrs.  Barrington.  Certainly,  Edward. 

Barrington.  Well,  that  picture.  Poor 
old  Washington  crossing  the  Delaware 
gives  me  a  nervous  chill  every  time  I 
look  at  him.  I'm  always  afraid  some 
Britisher  will  hit  him  in  the  eye  with  a 
snowball. 


^8     The  Harringtons'  "At  Home" 

Mrs.  Barrington  (laughing).  I  feel  the 
same  way,  Edward,  but  Jane  and  I 
couldn't  very  well  get  it  down.  It  is 
too  heavy. 

Barrington  (taking  oft  his  coat}.  Why, 
of  course   it   is.     That's   a  man's  job.' 
Jane,   get  me  the   step-ladder  and   I'll 
fix  it. 
Jane.  Yes,  Mr.  Barrington. 

[Exit  at  door  R. 

Barrington.  What  shall  we  put  in  its 
place,  Edna  ?  How  about  the  Countess 
Potocka  ? 

Mrs.  Barrington.  The  very  thing.  I'll 
get  it. 

[Exit  and  returns  in  a  moment  with 

tlie  portrait. 

Barrington.  Splendid.    I'll  have  it  up 
in  a  second.     Always  a  favorite  of  mine. 
[Jane  returns  with  step-ladder.    Bar 
rington  places  it  in  front  of  mantel 
and  climbs  up. 

Barrington  (leaning  forward  and  grasp 
ing  the  Washington  picture  at  both  ends). 


The  Harringtons'  "At  Home"     39 

Now,  Mr.  Washington,  we'll  have  you 
down  in  a  jiffy,  and,  mind  you,  your 
Excellency,  there's  no  disrespect  to  you 
in  this.  (Lifts  picture.)  We — simply — 
don't  like  to — -see  you  out — in — the — 
cold.  That's  all.  (All  this  while  removing 
wire  from  hook.)  There.  (Hands  picture 
down  to  Jane.)  Jane,  put  the  General 
in  a  nice  warm  spot  in  the  attic — next 
the  chimney- flues.  (Exit  Jane  carrying 
picture.)  Where's  the  Potocka? 

Mrs.  Barrington.  Here  it  is.  (Hands 
Potocka  portrait  to  Barrington.) 

Barrington  (hanging  it).  There,  Coun 
tess.  May  your  life  here  be  happier 
than  the  one  you  led  at  home — poor 
child!  How's  that,  Edna?  All  right? 

Mrs.  Barrington.  Much  better.  It 
should  be  a  little  higher  on  the  left — 

Barrington  (turning  it).  How's  that? 

Mrs.  Barrington.  That's  right.  You 
have  a  wonderfully  accurate  eye,  Ed 
ward. 

Barrington.  Well,   a  clergyman  after 


4O     The  Harringtons'  "At  Home" 

many  years  of  sobriety  ought  to  be  able 
to  see  straight.  (Comes  down  from 
ladder  and  looks  at  his  hands.  They  are 
black  with  dust.}  Poor  Washington — he 
hasn't  even  been  dusted  for  years  and 
years.  What's  become  of  those  Rogers 
groups  that  used  to  seesaw  on  this 
mantel-piece  ? 

Mrs.  Barrington  (with  a  shudder}. 
I've  hidden  them  away — in  the  linen- 
closet. 

Barrington.  Good!  Here's  hoping 
they  may  enjoy  a  long  and  uninterrupt 
ed  rest.  And  how  about  the  supper, 
dear?  Did  you  order  the  cafe  frappe* 
from  Tomlini? 

Mrs.  Barrington.  Yes — and  Jane  and 
I  have  made  a  lot  of  lettuce  sandwiches, 
and  there  are  salted  almonds,  and  in 
stead  of  lemonade  we're  going  to  have 
some  iced  tea.  Don't  you  think  that's 
better  ? 

Barrington.  It's  a  positive  relief,  my 
dear.  A  positive  relief.  I  am  so  tired 


The  Harringtons'  "At  Home"     41 

of  lemonade,  and  sandwiches  made  of 
potted  things,  and  all  the  outrageous 
combinations  that  make  a  church  tea  a 
sure  forerunner  of  dyspepsia. 

Mrs.  Barrington.  At  any  rate,  ours 
will  be  different,  and  that's  something. 

Barrington.  It  will,  and  I  fancy  these 
dear,  good  people  we  have  just  come  to 
serve  will  realize  it  in  a  moment.  How 
can  they  help  it  ?  If  it  were  not  for  my 
position  I'd  wager  the  changes  you've 
made  in  this  old  mausoleum  of  a  manse, 
changing  it  into  a  real  homelike  home, 
will  open  their  eyes  a  bit. 

[Sits  down  and  rubs  his  hands  with 
satisfaction.  Door-bell  rings.  Exit 
Jane  to  answer  it. 

Mrs.  Barrington.  Dear  me!  I  wonder 
who  that  can  be!  Certainly  no  callers. 

Barrington.  Our  cards  read  that  the 
reception  would  be  at  five,  didn't  they? 

Mrs.  Barrington.  Yes;  and  it's  only 
three  now. 

[Enter  Jane,  followed  by  Mrs.  Dow- 


42     The  Barringtons'  "At  Home" 

ling.  The  latter  is  short,  slightly 
stout,  and  very  self-confident. 

Jane.  Mrs.   Bowling,  mim. 

Mrs.  Dowling  (effusively).  My  dear 
Mrs.  Harrington — I  simply  could  not 
wait  a  moment  longer.  (Kisses  her.) 
It  is  so  awfully  hard  to  get  settled  in  a 
new  house,  particularly  if  it's  an  old  one. 
How  do  you  do,  Mr.  Harrington  ?  Poor 
man!  I  suppose  it's  almost  impossible 
for  you  to  get  to  work  on  any  new 
sermons  until  you  get  used  to  your  new 
surroundings  ? 

Barrington  (smiling).  I — I  haven't 
tried  yet,  Mrs.  Dowling.  You  know  I 
have  quite  a  number  of  old  sermons  on 
hand. 

Mrs.  Barrington  (protestingly) .  He 
never  writes  one  of  them,  Mrs.  Dowling. 

Mrs.  Dowling  (laughing).  Oh,  of 
course,  I  know  all  that  talk  about 
ministers'  barrels  of  sermons  is  just  a 
joke.  Still,  you  will  feel  strange  here 
for  a  little  while.  That's  only  natural. 


The  Barringtons'  "At  Home"    43 

And  what  do  you  suppose  I've  come 
for? 

Barrington.  You  certainly  don't  need 
to  explain  that,  Mrs.  Dowling.  Some  er 
rand  of  mercy,  no  doubt. 

Mrs.  Dowling  (removing  her  wrap). 
I  came  because  I  felt  sure  you'd  need 
somebody  to  help  you  fix  up  your  draw 
ing-room  for  this  afternoon's  reception; 
so  I  just  ran  in  to  see  if  I  couldn't  be 
of  some  assistance. 

Mrs.  Barrington.  It  is  very  good  of 
you — 

Barrington.  Most  kind  of  you,  I'm 
sure. 

Mrs.  Dowling  (espying  the  piano). 
Why— who  put  that  piano  there?  It 
has  always  stood  in  the  other  corner. 

Mrs.  Barrington.  So  I  believe,  but  I— 

Mrs.  Dowling.  I  suppose  when  Mr. 
Harkaway  moved  out  some  of  those 
careless  van  men  rolled  it  over  there. 

Mrs.  Barrington.  Why,  no — I — 

Mrs.  Dowling.  Fortunately  my  man 


44     The  Barringtons'    'At  Home" 

James  came  with  me  to  carry  a  couple  of 
— well,  little  surprises  I  have  for  you, 
dear  (to  Mrs.  Harrington) .  I  fancy 
James  and  Mr.  Harrington  are  big  and 
strong  enough  to  restore  it  to  where  it 
belongs.  (Turning  to  door.}  James! 

James  (appearing  at  doorway).  Yis, 
mum. 

Mrs.  Dowling.  James,  just  remove 
that  table  and  lamp  from  the  corner 
and  help  Mr.  Barrington  push  the 
piano  back  to  where  it  belongs — over 
here. 

James.  Yis,  mum.  (Begins  to  remove 
objects  from  small  table.} 

Barrington.  Oh  no,  Mrs.  Dowling;  I 
don't  think — 

Mrs.  Dowling.  It's  no  trouble  at  all, 
Mr.  Barrington.  James  is  used  to  it. 
Hurry,  James — we  haven't  much  time. 

James.  Yis,  mum.  (He  finishes  table 
and  sets  it  to  one  side.}  I  guess  I  can 
push  ut  widout  Mr.  Barrington's  help. 
(Pushes,  but  unavailingly.) 


The  Barringtons'  "At  Home"     45 

Barrington.  The  fact  is,  Mrs.  Bowling, 
we — 

Mrs.  Dowling.  I  guess  you'll  have  to 
help  him,  Mr.  Barrington. 

Barrington.  But  you  see,  Mrs.  Bow 
ling,  Mrs.  Barrington  and  I — 

James  (as  the  piano  begins  to  move). 
Ah!  There  she  goes.  (Rolls  it  across 
to  the  other  corner,  and  stands  awaiting 
further  orders.  Barrington  looks  help 
lessly  at  his  wife.) 

Mrs.  Dowling.  Good — that  looks  much 
more  natural. 

Mrs.  Barrington.  Bon't  you  think  it 
is  rather  in  the  way  there,  Mrs.  Bow 
ling? 

Mrs.  Dowling.  Possibly,  but  then  it  is 
farther  from  the  window,  Mrs.  Barring- 
ton,  and  damp  weather  does  so  interfere 
with  the  tone  of  an  instrument.  Now, 
let  me  see — (gazes  about  until  her  eye 
rests  on  the  Potocka  portrait) — why,  what 
has  become  of  that  picture  of  "Wash 
ington  Crossing  the  Belaware"  that  used 


46    The  Harringtons'  "At  Home" 

to  hang  over  the  mantel-piece?  Mrs. 
Harkaway  didn't  take  that,  did  she? 

Mrs.  Barrington.  No,  Mrs.  Bowling. 
It  is  up  in  the  attic.  When  Mr.  Bar 
rington  and  I — 

Mrs.  Dowling.  James — er — run  up 
into  the  attic  and  get  the  picture  of 
"Washington  Crossing  the  Delaware" 
— a  man  in  a  boat  surrounded  by  ice- 
cakes,  James. 

James  (shaking  his  head  knowingly). 
Oi  know  ut  well,  mum.  [Exit. 

Barrington.  We  don't  like  to  bother 
James,  Mrs.  Dowling— er — er — 

Mrs.  Dowling.  It  isn't  the  slightest 
bother,  Mr.  Barrington — 

Mrs.  Barrington.  But  I  don't  really 
care  for  the  picture,  Mrs.  Dowling. 

Mrs.  Dowling  (laughing  merrily). 
Neither  do  I,  my  dear— can't  abide  it— 
but  you  know  it  was  the  gift  to  the 
parsonage  of  Mrs.  Bunce,  years  ago, 
and  it  has  always  hung  there,  and  Mrs. 
Bunce  is  a  very  peculiar  woman.  Highly 


The  Harringtons'  "At  Home"    47 

sensitive  and  likely  to  feel  herself 
slighted  on  the  least  pretext.  She'd 
miss  it,  and  you  could  hardly  explain 
that  you  didn't  like  it,  you  know. 

Harrington  (gloomily}.  Not  very  well — 
[James    returns    with    "Washington 
Crossing  the  Delaware." 

Mrs.  Dowling.  Thank  you,  James— 
now  get  a  step-ladder  and  remove  that 
other  picture  and  put  this  one  up  in  its 
place.  (Exit  James  after  leaning  Wash 
ington  against  the  wall.}  I'm  sure  I 
don't  know  where  that  picture  came 
from.  (Indicating  the  Potocka.) 

Mrs.  Barrington.  It  belonged  to — 

Mrs.  Dowling.  It's  hardly  appropri 
ate  for  a  parsonage — pretty  and  decora 
tive,  but— er— a  trifle  flippant. 

Barrington.  I've  rather  liked  that  pict 
ure. 

Mrs.  Dowling.  Oh,  you  good-natured 
ministers!  Ha!  ha!  Just  because  you 
find  a  thing  in  a  house,  rather  than 
hurt  anybody's  feelings  you  pretend  to 


48    The  Barringtons'  "At  Home" 

like    things    you    really    hate.      Diplo 
macy,  eh  ? 

Barrington.  Not  at  all,  Mrs.  Dowling, 

Mrs.  Dowling.  Perhaps  you're  afraid 
I  gave  that  to  the  manse  and — 

Barrington.  No,  indeed.     1  never  even 
dreamed  of  such  a  thing,  because — 

Mrs.  Dowling.  Because  you  know  my 
taste?  Thank  you  very  much  for  a 
very  pretty  compliment.  (Enter  James 
with  step-ladder.)  Over  here,  James. 
(James  erects  ladder  in  front  of  mantel 
piece  and  mounts  it.)  Steady  now, 
James.  (James  gets  Potocka  picture 
down.)  Mr.  Barrington,  will  you  take 
it  and  hand  James  the  Washington? 
(Barrington  does  so  with  a  sigh  of  resigna 
tion.  James  proceeds  to  hang  the  Wash 
ington.)  Thanks.  There— a  little  far 
ther  to  the  left,  James— there — no — 
that's  too  much — down  at  this  corner. 
There!  That  will  do. 

Mrs.  Barrington.  I'm  glad  you  told 


The  Harringtons'  "At  Home"    49 

me  about   Mrs.    Bunce.     Did  she  give 
anything  else,  Mrs.  Bowling? 

Mrs.  Dowling.  No.      That  was  all — 

Barrington.  I  wonder  who  gave  those 
Rogers  groups — 

Mrs.  Dowling.  Oh,  yes,  where  are 
they?  It  would  never  do  not  to  have 
them  on  the  mantel-piece.  I  wonder 
where  Mrs.  Harkaway — 

Mrs.  Barrington  (ruefully).  Oh, 
they're  not  lost,  Mrs.  Dowling.  They're 
up-stairs  in  the  linen-closet. 

Mrs.  Dowling.  James — run  up  to  the 
linen-closet — 

Barrington.  I'll  get  them.  (Aside.} 
And  on  my  way  down  I'll  fall  and  break 
them. 

Mrs.  Dowling.  No,  indeed.  James  is 
perfectly  familiar  with  the  house — 

James  (with  a  grin).  I  know  it  loike 
a  buk!  Oi've  bin  troo  dhis  before,  sorr, 
manny's  the  toime. 

Mrs.  Dowling.  James  has  settled  at 
least  five  of  our  ministers  here. 


50     The  Harringtons'  "At  Home" 

James.  Lasht  toime  thim  Rogers 
brothers  was  down  in  th'  cellar  forninst 
th'  coal-bin.  [Exit. 

Mrs.  Dowling.  Yes — Mrs.  Harkaway 
could  not  seem  to  understand  why  tact, 
if  not  taste,  required  that  the  legacy 
of  old  Colonel  Barclay  to  the  parsonage 
should  occupy  a  place  of  honor  in  the 
drawing-room. 

Barrington.  Possibly  she  had  ideas  of 
art — 

Mrs.  Dowling.  She  had— -she  had  been 
an  art  student,  and  the  rude  strength  of 
Rogers  never  appealed  to  her  over- 
cultivated  taste.  We  ladies  of  the 
Dorcas  had  a  very  hard  time  bringing 
her  around  to  our  way  of  thinking.  As 
long  as  Mrs.  Barclay  lived  it  certainly 
would  have  been  a  terrible  thing  to  hide 
her  husband's  legacy  as  though  it  were 
not  fit  to  be  seen. 

Mrs.  Barrington.  Very  true.  And  is 
Mrs.  Barclay  still  living. 

Mrs.  Dowling.  No — 


The  Harringtons*  "At  Home"     51 

Barrington  (aside).  Good!  I'm  glad 
of  that. 

Mrs.  Dowling.  What  say,  Mr.  Bar 
rington  ? 

Barrington.  How  very  sad — I — er — 
never  had  the  pleasure  of  meeting  Mrs. 
Barclay. 

Mrs.  Dowling.  She  was  a  strong  wom 
an  and  we  miss  her  dreadfully — so 
masterful.  But  her  two  daughters, 
Marian  and  Esther,  are  still  with  us, 
and  they  would  feel  dreadfully  hurt  not 
to  find  the  groups  where  they  have 
always  been. 

[Enter  James  with  the  groups. 

James.  Where'll  oi  putt  'em? 

Barrington.  Why,  suppose  we  place 
them  on  the  table  in  the  corner. 

Mrs.  Dowling.  I  think  they'd  better 
go  just  where  they  were,  on  the  mantel 
piece.  One  at  each  end,  James — they 
always  balanced  very  well. 

[James  puts  them  on  mantel  as  in 
structed. 


52     The  Harringtons'  "At  Home" 

Mrs.  Dowling.  That's  it. 

Mrs.  Barrington.  Do  you  like  them, 
Mrs.  Dowling? 

Mrs.  Dowling.  Well — yes  and  no.  I 
think  they  are  very  interesting  as 
specimens  of — er — 

Barrington.  Early  American  struggles 
to  realize  an  artistic  ideal. 

Mrs.  Dowling.  Beautifully  expressed, 
Mr.  Barrington.  I  wanted  to  say  that 
and  didn't  know  how. 

Mrs.  Barrington.  I  don't  think  a  par 
sonage  is  exactly  a  museum  for  the  pres 
ervation  of  art  struggles,  however. 

Mrs.  Dowling.  No,  Mrs.  Barrington, 
but,  after  all,  it  should  represent  some 
what  the  tastes  of  the  good  people  to 
whom  it  belongs  and  who  are  not  back 
ward  in  their  efforts  to  beautify  it. 
That  was  a  point  that  Mrs.  Harkaway, 
your  predecessor,  failed  to  grasp,  and  it 
resulted  in  some  very  difficult  situations. 

Mrs.  Barrington.  Oh,  indeed;  I  can 
readily  see  that. 


The  Harringtons'  "At  Home"     53 

Harrington.  Quite  so. 
Mrs.  Dowling.  But  we  are  too  sensible 
— people  like  ourselves  who  have  ceased 
to  be  provincial — to  add  to  the  dif 
ficulties  of  church  work  by  opposing  our 
own  broader  views — 

Mrs.  Barrington  (hopelessly).  Oh,  in 
deed,  yes. 

Mrs.  Dowling.  Sometimes  acquies 
cence  is  a  short-cut  to  happiness.  And 
now,  my  dear,  one  other  thing  before  I 
go.  I  just  knew  that  with  all  the  care 
and  trouble  of  setting  this  house  in 
order  you  wouldn't  have  much  time  to 
arrange  for  the  tea  and  the  flowers.  So 
I've  brought  these  peonies  for  you. 

[Opens  box  of  flaming  red  -flowers. 
Removes  other  flowers  from  vases 
and  throws  them  into  the  waste- 
basket,  and  rearranges  a  gaudy 
selection  of  peonies,  hollyhocks, 
etc.,  in  their  place. 

Mrs.  Dowling.  There  —  that  gives 
color  to  the  room,  does  it  not? 


54     The  Harringtons'  "At  Home" 

Mrs.  Barrington  (with  a  gulp).  Y-yes 
it — certainly  does. 

Barrington  (with  an  effort  at  cheer 
fulness}.  Gorgeous. 

Mrs.  Dowling.  James,  bring  in  the 
hamper.  [Exit  James. 

Mrs.  Barrington.  The  hamper? 
Really,  Mrs.  Dowling,  you  are  too  kind. 

Mrs.  Dowling.  Not  at  all — not  at  all, 
my  dear.  You  don't  know  how  I  love 
to  help. 

[James  enters  with  hamper. 

Mrs.  Dowling.  Put  it  down  here, 
James.  (Indicating  space  before  her. 
James  does  so.  Mrs.  Dowling  opens  it.} 
There,  my  dear.  There  is  a  gingerbread, 
two  Washington  pies,  a  bag  of  walnuts 
— your  cook  can  crack  them — and  I'd 
have  her  put  a  little  salt  on  them — the 
congregation  are  very  fond  of  nuts. 

Mrs.  Barrington.  It  will  be  a  com 
mon  bond  to  unite  us.  I  am,  too. 

Mrs.  Dowling.  So  glad!  And  here  is 
some  potted  tongue  and  chicken  and 


The  Barringtons'  "At  Home"     55 

a  couple  of  loaves  of  bread.  Your  maid 
can  make  sandwiches  of  them,  and  you 
will  find  them  also  very  popular.  The 
last  time  we  gave  a  surprise- party,  to  Mr. 
Harkaway  we  consumed  two  hundred 
and  eight  potted-chicken  sandwiches — 
just  think  of  it! 

Barrington.  Marvellous. 

Mrs.  Barrington.  It  is  so  nice  to  find 
out  what  our  people  like;  isn't  it,  Ed 
ward  ? 

Barrington.  Quite  so. 

Mrs.  Dowling.  And  this  is  a  bottle 
of  lemon-juice  for  the  lemonade.  You 
ought  to  like  that,  Mr.  Barrington 
(coyly) ,  for  I  squeezed  the  lemons  with 
my  own  fair  hands. 

Barrington.  Then  we  shall  be  able  to 
economize  on  sugar,  Mrs.  Dowling. 

Mrs.  Dowling.  Now,  now !  You  must 
n't  make  yourself  too  popular  with  the 
ladies,  Mr.  Barrington.  Now  let  me  see 
— oh,  yes — here  are  two  dozen  Japanese 
paper  napkins,  and  Mrs.  Bunce  is  going 


56     The  Barringtons'  "At  Home" 

to  send  over  a  pot  of  jam  and  two 
bottles  of  pickles,  so  you'll  be  very  well 
provided  with  things  to  eat  and  needn't 
worry  your  poor  head  any  further  on 
that  score. 

Mrs.  Barrington  (faintly).  I  had  order 
ed  some  cafe*  frapp£  from — 

Mrs.  Dowling.  I  wouldn't  waste  it  on 
them,  my  dear  child.  You  know  I've 
been  all  through  this  so  many  times — 
you  are  the  fifth  young  couple  I've 
broken  in — and  I  know  exactly  what 
the  Wykeham  people  like.  That  ginger 
bread  won't  last  five  minutes,  and  the 
lemonade — mercy!  Well,  just  you  wait 
and  see. 

Barrington.  You've  been  most  aw 
fully  kind,  Mrs.  Dowling,  to  take  so 
much  trouble. 

Mrs.  Dowling.  There,  there,  Mr.  Bar 
rington.  Trouble's  a  pleasure.  Mercy 
me — it's  four  o'clock!  How  time  does 
fly!  I  must  be  running  home  to  dress. 
I  wonder  if  this  room  is  exactly  right. 


The  Harringtons'  "At  Home"     57 

Piano — Washington — Rogers — I  wonder 
where  Mrs.  Dido's  wax  flowers  are. 

Harrington.  Wax  flowers?  Edna, 
have  you  seen  any  of  Mrs.  Dido's  wax 
flowers  ? 

Mrs.  Barrington  (aside}.  Hush,  Ed 
ward — please. 

Mrs.  Dowling  (searching  about).  They 
were  tiger-lilies  and  pond-lilies  under  a 
glass  cover.  (Looks  under  table.)  She'd 
be  heartbroken  if  they  weren't  where 
they  always  were  on  the  centre-table. 
Made  'em  herself,  you  know. 

Mrs.  Barrington  (at  door).  Jane,  look 
up  in  the  attic  and  see  if  there  are  some 
wax  flowers — pond-lilies  and  tiger-lilies 
under  a  glass  cover. 

Mrs.  Dowling  (on  her  knees  before  sofa 
and  looking  under  it).  Ah — this  looks 
like  it.  (Hauls  out  huge  oval  platter 
with  glass  cover.)  Yes,  these  are  they. 
Who  could  have  put  them  there? 
Mercy!  what  a  narrow  escape.  (Re 
moves  vase  from  centre-table  and  places 
s 


58     The  Barringtons'  "At  Home" 

the  wax  flowers  thereon.)  Mrs.  Dido 
would  never  have  forgotten  it,  and  she 
is  so  necessary  to  the  church. 

Barrington  (hollowly).  So  glad  they 
were  found. 

Mrs.  Dowling.  So  am  I.  Even 
"Washington  Crossing  the  Delaware" 
missing  would  have  been  better  than 
those  pond-lilies  in  hiding.  And  now, 
good-bye,  dear.  (Kisses  Mrs.  Barring- 
ton.)  Don't  worry — I'm  sure  your  re 
ception  will  be  a  great  success,  and  the 
whole  congregation  will  appreciate  your 
loving  tact  in  changing  the  old  manse 
about  so  little.  Au  revoir. 

[1/Faws    her    hand    and    goes    out. 
Barrington    escorts    her    to    door. 
Mrs.  Barrington  throws  herself  in 
her  chair  and  gazes  ruefully  about. 
Barrington  returns. 
Barrington.  My    dear,    how    did    our 
cards  read,  anyhow? 

Mrs.  Barrington.  The  Reverend  and 
Mrs.  Barrington — 


The  Harringtons'  "At  Home"     59 

Barrington.  Yes? 

Mrs.  Barrington.  AT  HOME!  (Looks 
about  her.  Sighs.}  That's  the  way  you 
wrote  it,  Edward. 

Barrington.  I  was  afraid  so,  dear.  I 
was  afraid  so.  (Gazes  around  the  room. 
Looks  at  wax  -flowers  and  sighs  deeply  as 
he  sits  and  taps  his  fingers  together.)  At 
home!  (Pauses.)  Edna,  that's  the  first 
lie  I  ever  told  in  all  my  life. 


CURTAIN 


THE  RETURN  OF  CHRISTMAS 


THE  RETURN  OF  CHRISTMAS 


DRAMATIS  PERSONS 

EDWARD  RANDOLPH,  a  man  of  railroads  and  trusts. 
MRS.  EDWARD  RANDOLPH,  a  social  leader. 
THOMAS  RANDOLPH,  their  son,  a  real  boy. 
MABEL  RANDOLPH,  their  daughter,  a  real  girl. 
Miss  WOODBRIDGE,  a  proxy  mother. 
GRIMMINS,   a  butler. 
SANTA  GLAUS,  an  incident. 

SCENE. — The  drawing-room  of  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Edward  Randolph.  It  is  lux 
uriously  appointed.  As  the  curtain 
rises,  enter  Mrs.  Randolph. 

TIME. — Christmas  Eve. 

Mrs.  Randolph.  I  am  really  quite 
excited  at  the  prospect  of  seeing  the 
children  again.  Let  me  see,  when  was 
it  I  saw  Tommy  last — was  it  Decoration 


64         The  Return  of  Christmas 

Day  or  the  Fourth  of  July  ?  (A  pause.) 
No,  it  was — oh,  well,  the  date  is  of  no 
importance;  and  Mabel — she  was  a 
pretty  little  thing,  and  it  will  be  a  real 
pleasure  to  see  her  once  more. 
Enter  Randolph. 

Mrs.  Randolph  (languidly).  Ah,  Ed 
ward,  howdido? 

Randolph.  Very  well,  my  dear.  And 
you? 

Mrs.  Randolph.  So  so.  Did  you  ar 
range  with  Santa  Claus? 

Randolph.  Yes.  He'll  be  here  on 
time.  (Looks  at  watch.)  Ought  to  be 
along  in  about  five  minutes.  I  trust 
that  the  children  will  appear  promptly. 
I  have  an  important  deal  on  with  Judge 
Astorbilt  at  ten  o'clock.  If  it  was  any 
other  night  than  Christmas  Eve,  I 
wouldn't  have  come  home. 

Mrs.  Randolph.  I  wish  it  might  have 
been  postponed,  too.  I  have  a  bridge- 
party  at  nine. 

Randolph.  Oh,    well,    it    won't    take 


The  Return  of  Christmas         65 

long,  if  we  don't  talk  too  much.    (Lights 
a  cigarette.}     Have  one? 

Mrs.  Randolph.  No,  thank  you.  I  pre 
fer  my  own;  and,  besides,  I've  given 
up  smoking.  Would  you  mind  pressing 
the  button  for  Grimmins,  Edward? 

Randolph.  Certainly.  (Presses  button.) 
Grimmins  was  very  much  pleased  with 
his  present. 

Mrs.  Randolph.  What  did  you  give 
him? 

Randolph.  Check  for  twenty-five  hun 
dred.     He  preferred  it  to  a  motor. 
Enter  Grimmins. 

Grimmins.  Did  you  ring,  madam? 

Mrs.  Randolph.  Yes,  Grimmins.  I 
wish  you  would  go  to  the  children's 
apartments  and  tell  Miss  Woodbridge  to 
bring  Master  Thomas  and  Miss  Mabel 
here  at  once. 

Grimmins.  Yes,  madam. 

Randolph.  And,  by  the  way,  Grim 
mins,  if  a  gentleman  named  Santa  Claus 
calls  this  evening,  I  shall  be  at  home. 


66         The  Return  of  Christmas 

Grimmins.  Very  good,  sir.  And,  by 
the  way,  sir,  if  I  may  make  so  bold  as  to 
speak  of  a  small  matter — 

Randolph.  Certainly,  Grimmins. 
What  is  it  ? 

Grimmins  (taking  check  from  his 
pocket).  This  check,  sir— I  think  you 
must  have  made  a  mistake.  It's  for 
twenty-five  hundred  dollars,  sir — 

Randolph.  That  is  the  sum  I  designed 
to  give  you,  Grimmins. 

Grimmins.  I  understand  that,  sir, 
but  it's  drawn  on  a  Wilmington  trust 
company,  sir — 

Randolph.  Well?  It's  a  solvent  com 
pany,  Grimmins. 

Grimmins.  I  don't  doubt  it,  sir;  but 
my  bank  charges  two  dollars  and  a  half 
for  collection,  sir,  and  I  thought  possibly 
you — 

Randolph.  Oh,  I  see.  Of  course, 
Grimmins.  My  mistake.  Here's  the 
two-fifty.  Anything  else  ?  (Hands  him 
the  money.) 


OF    COU 


COURSP:,  ORIMMINS.      vv,  Mrsi;A;KR"",  ;, 


The  Return  of  Christmas         67 

Grimmins.  No,  sir.  (He  takes  the 
money.)  Thank  you,  sir.  I  will  tell  Miss 
Woodbridge,  madam.  [Exit. 

Mrs.  Randolph.  What  a  careful  man 
Grimmins  is! 

Randolph.  Yes.  Very  little  escapes 
his  vigilant  eye.  I  don't  know  how  I 
came  to  overlook  the  exchange  on  that 
check. 

Mrs.  Randolph.  I  fancy  it's  because 
you  never  think  in  sums  under  a  thou 
sand,  Edward. 

Enter  Grimmins. 

Grimmins.  Miss  Woodbridge! 

[Enter    Miss    Woodbridge.        Exit 
Grimmins. 

Mrs.  Randolph.  You  come  alone,  Miss 
Woodbridge?  Where  are  the  children? 

Miss  Woodbridge.  I  regret  to  say  that 
they  are  not  quite  ready,  Mrs.  Ran 
dolph.  You  see — 

Mrs.  Randolph.  But  I  told  you  to 
have  them  here  sharp  at  eight  o'clock. 
This  is  very  annoying.  Both  Mr.  Ran- 


68         The  Return  of  Christmas 

dolph  and  I  have  other  engagements  for 
this  evening. 

Randolph.  It's  deuced  inconvenient 
for  me,  Miss  Woodbridge.  I  can't  have 
my  business  affairs  interfered  with  by 
carelessness  in  my  household. 

Miss  Woodbridge.  I  am  very  sorry, 
sir,  but  it  is  not  my  fault.  The  children 
escaped  from  the  motor  this  afternoon, 
while  I  was  in  Dorlinger's  buying  the 
sables  for  the  cook,  and  I  was  unable  to 
find  them  until  nearly  seven  o'clock,  sir. 

Mrs.  Randolph.  My  dear  Miss  Wood- 
bridge!  Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  that 
my  children — 

Miss  Woodbridge.  They  are  perfectly 
safe,  madam.  With  the  aid  of  the 
police  I  found  them  in  the  toy  depart 
ment  at  Pennypacker's. 

Mrs.  Randolph.  Dear,  dear,  dear! 
Pennypacker's,  of  all  places  in  the  world ! 
After  two  hours  of  contact  with — 
(Shudders.)  Ugh! 

Miss  Woodbridge.  I  am  sorry,  madam ; 


The  Return  of  Christmas         69 

but  they  disobeyed  my  strict  orders, 
and  Williamson  was  busy  under  the  ma 
chine  looking  for  the — 

Mrs.  Randolph.  No  doubt,  Miss  Wood- 
bridge;  but  do  you  realize  that  by  this 
contact  with  the — the  proletariat,  they 
may  have  acquired  germs  that  will  ex 
pose  us  all  to — 

Miss  Woodbridge.  Their  clothing  has 
all  been  fumigated,  madam,  and  both 
children  have  had  an  antiseptic  bath.  I 
have  done  all  I  could,  and  Doctor  Jarley 
has  told  me  over  the  telephone  that  he 
doesn't  think  you  need  worry. 

Randolph.  I  guess  Jarley  is  right, 
Amanda.  I  come  into  contact  with  the 
proletariat  myself  every  day  on  the 
Subway,  and  so  far — 

Mrs.  Randolph.  You  are  a  great, 
strong  man,  Edward;  and,  besides, 
you've  had  the  mumps,  the  measles, 
and  the  whooping-cough. 

Miss  Woodbridge.  So  have  the  chil 
dren,  madam. 


70         The  Return  of  Christmas 

Mrs.  Randolph.  What?  My  children 
— the  measles,  mumps,  and  whooping- 
cough?  When,  Miss  Woodbridge? 

Miss  Woodbridge.  Yes,  madam.  I 
wrote  you  a  note  about  it  and  gave  it 
to  Grimmins  to  deliver — last  October 
was  the  mumps  period.  The  whooping- 
cough  was  while  you  were  in  Paris  last 
spring. 

Mrs.  Randolph.  You  should  have 
come  and  told  me  yourself,  Miss  Wood- 
bridge. 

Miss  Woodbridge.  I  did  not  wish  to 
expose  you  unnecessarily. 

Randolph.  Very  considerate,  I'm  sure. 
That  explains  Jarley's  last  quarterly 
bill.  He  charged  eighteen  hundred 
dollars  for  twenty-eight  visits  last  Octo 
ber.  I  meant  to  ask  who  had  been  ill, 
but  in  the  trouble  over  the  reorganiza 
tion  of  M.,  P.,  &  W.  I  forgot  it. 

Mrs.  Randolph.  Well,  I  should  have 
been  told  less  informally.  Hereafter, 
Miss  Woodbridge,  I  shall  have  to 


The  Return  of  Christmas         71 

trouble  you  to  make  your  nursery 
reports  monthly,  instead  of  semi-an- 
nually,  as  heretofore. 

Enter  Grimmins. 

Grimmins.  Master  Thomas  Randolph 
and  Miss  Mabel  Randolph! 

[The  children  enter  and  stand  awk 
wardly  at  the  door.  Exit  Grim 
mins. 

Miss  Woodbridge.  Come  in,  children, 
and  meet  your  parents.  Mrs.  Randolph, 
this  is  your  son,  Thomas.  Mabel,  let 
me  introduce  you  to  your  father. 

Mrs.  Randolph  (holding  out  her  left 
hand  to  Tommy).  Glad  to  see  you  again, 
my  son. 

Tommy.  Madam,  the  pleasure  is  mine. 

Mabel  (to  Randolph).  Your  face  is 
very  familiar  to  me,  father.  Haven't 
we  met  before? 

Randolph  (laughing}.  By  Jove!  Mab, 
I  think  we  have — 

Mabel.  At  Newport  or  Lenox,  I  think 
it  was.  Anyhow,  you  were  pointed  out 


72         The  Return  of  Christmas 

to  me  as  my  father,  and  I  was  quite  in 
terested.  I  wasn't  sure  I  had  one. 

Tommy.  He  isn't  your  father,  Mabel. 
He's  mine.  Miss  Woodbridge  said  so. 

Miss  Woodbridge.  He  belongs  to  both 
of  you,  Thomas. 

Tommy.  Good.  I  like  his  looks. 
(Goes  up  and  shakes  hands  with  Ran 
dolph.)  By  the  way,  father,  have  you 
met  my  mother?  Mother,  this  is 
father. 

Mrs.  Randolph.  I  congratulate  you, 
Miss  Woodbridge,  upon  the  children's 
manners.  They  are  quite  au  fait.  Come 
here,  Mabel. 

Mabel  (hesitating).  Shall  I,  Miss  Wood- 
bridge  ? 

Miss  Woodbridge.  Certainly,  Mabel. 
The  lady  is  your  mother. 

Mabel.  Oh,  I  am  so  glad!  I've  al 
ways  wanted  to  see  my  mother.  I  won 
der  if  I  might  kiss  her  ? 

Mrs.  Randolph.  Why — yes,  dear,  if 
you  want  to.  (They  kiss  each  other.) 


The  Return  of  Christmas         73 

You  must  not  permit  the  children  to  be 
too  demonstrative,  Miss  Woodbridge. 

Miss  Woodbridge.  I  do  all  I  can  to 
discourage  it,  madam. 

Mrs.  Randolph  (leaning  wearily  back 
in  her  chair).  Edward,  you  had  better 
acquaint  the  children  with  the  object 
of  this  meeting. 

Randolph.  Certainly,  my  dear.  Chil 
dren,  this  is  Christmas  Eve — 

Miss  Woodbridge.  I  have  explained 
that  to  them,  Mr.  Randolph. 

Randolph.  Good.  That  saves  time. 
(To  children.)  I  have  arranged  to  have 
Mr.  Santa  Claus  call  this  evening  with 
a  varied  assortment  of  Christmas  gifts 
for  you  to  choose  from. 

Tommy.  Fine! 

Mrs.  Randolph  (to  Tommy).  Curb 
yourself,  my  child.  Enthusiasm  of  any 
sort  is  bad  form.  Go  on,  Edward. 

Randolph.  And  as  your  mother  and 
I  have  very  important  engagements  for 
the  evening  —  business  engagements — 


74         The  Return  of  Christmas 

your  mother  at  bridge  and  I  at  a 
directors'  meeting  of  the  Chloroform 
Trust — I  must  ask  you  to  make  your 
selections  quickly. 

Mabel.  We  will,  father. 
Tommy.  You  can  count  on  me,  sir.     I 
know  what  I  don't  like. 

Randolph.  We  are  going  to  let  you 
choose  them  yourselves  in  order  that 
there  may  be  no  dissatisfaction  after 
ward. 

Tommy.  That's  great! 
Mrs.  Randolph.  Thomas! 
Tommy.  Very  kind  of  you,  I'm  sure, 
Mr.  Randolph. 

[Door-bell  rings. 

Randolph  (looking  at  his  watch).  I 
fancy  that  is  Santa  Claus  now. 

Enter  Grimmins. 
Grimmins.  Mr.  Santa  Claus! 

[Enter  Santa  Claus.  He  is  clad  in 
full  evening-dress,  of  the  most 
modern  style — swallow-tail  coat, 
patent-leather  shoes,  white  vest, 


The  Return  of  Christmas         75 

and  creased  trousers.  He  is  dap 
per  to  the  last  degree,  but  in  face 
and  figure  still  the  same  old  Santa. 
He  carries  a  suit-case  in  his  hand. 

Randolph.  Good-evening,  sir.  May 
I  present  you  to  Mrs.  Randolph? 

Mrs.  Randolph.  I  am  glad  to  see  you, 
Mr.  Glaus. 

Santa  Claus  (bowing  politely).  I  wish 
you  all  a  very  merry  Christmas. 

Mrs.  Randolph.  Say  rather  a  peace 
ful  Christmas,  Mr.  Claus.  Merriment  is 
hardly — 

Santa  Claus.  True,  madam.  I  ac 
cept  the  amendment.  May  your  Christ 
mas  be  most  placid — or  shall  I  say  a 
good  investment,  Mr.  Randolph? 

Randolph  (looking  at  his  watch).  Well, 
now,  Claus,  we'll  drop  persiflage  and 
begin  business.  It's  getting  late,  and  we 
have  work  to  do.  Suppose  we  hustle 
this  business  along.  These  are  the 
children  I  wrote  you  about.  I've  for 
gotten  how  old  they  are — 


76          The  Return  of  Christmas 

Mrs.  Randolph.  How  old  are  they, 
Miss  Woodbridge? 

Miss  Woodbridge.  I  haven't  got  the 
data  with  me,  but  I  can  run  up-stairs 
and  get  it. 

Santa  Claus.  Oh,  never  mind.  I  can 
tell  by  looking  at  them  about  what  will 
do  for  them.  Howdido,  children  ? 

Tommy.   Howdido  ? 

Mabel.  Pretty  well,  I  thank  you. 
How  are  you? 

Santa  Claus.  Fine! 

Tommy.  No  enthusiasm,  please,  Mr. 
Claus.  Mother  doesn't  like  it. 

Randolph.  Go  ahead  and  show  your 
goods,  Claus,  and  remember  I  don't 
stint  you  as  to  prices. 

Mrs.  Randolph.  That's  a  trifle  incau 
tious,  Edward.  It  seems  to  me  that 
there  should  be  a  limit. 

Santa  Claus.  It  would  expedite  mat 
ters  to  know  what  you  are  willing  to 
spend,  Mr.  Randolph.  There  is  the 
cheap  and  happy  Christmas;  there  is 


The  Return  of  Christmas         77 

the  expensive  Christmas — showy,  but  in 
convenient  after  New  Year's;  and — 

Randolph.  Oh,     well,     say— seventy- 
five  thousand  dollars.     I  made  several 
good  turns  in  the  market  to-day. 
Santa  Claus.  For  both? 
Mrs.  Randolph.  Apiece. 
Randolph.  Make  it  a  hundred  thou 
sand,  if  you  want  to. 

[Santa  Claus  opens  suit-case  and 
takes  out  a  large  book  full  of 
architectural  drawings  and  a  bun 
dle  of  papers. 

Santa  Claus.  I  have  here  the  deeds 
of  a  number  of  houses  at  Bar  Harbor, 
Lenox,  and  Newport,  ranging  from 
sixty  to  a  hundred  and  twenty  thousand 
dollars.  No.  17  is  very  pretty — well 
plumbed,  finished  throughout  in  buhl 
and  Chippendale,  and  conveniently  lo 
cated.  (Hands  pictures  to  Mrs.  Ran 
dolph,  who  turns  to  No.  17.) 

Mrs.  Randolph.  Very  pretty,  but 
hardly  suitable  for  a  child,  do  you  think  ? 


78         The  Return  of  Christmas 

I'm  sure  that  the  children  are  under  six 
teen. 

Santa  Claus.  That  all  depends  on  the 
way  you  look  at  it,  madam.  If  the 
children  entertain  a  great  deal  or  have 
an  expensive  guardian,  or  desire  occa 
sionally  to  receive  their  parents  for 
little  week-end  parties,  a  house  like  that 
would  be  very  nice. 

Randolph.  What  '11  it  cost  to  run 
it? 

Santa  Claus.  It  can  be  done  simply 
on  seventy-five  thousand  a  year. 

Randolph.  I  try  to  instil  into  their 
minds  that  they  ought  to  get  along  on 
five  thousand  dollars  a  month  apiece, 
Mr.  Claus.  That  is  only  sixty  thousand 
a  year. 

Tommy.  Well,  I  don't  want  it  at  all. 
I'd  rather  have  a  stable. 

Mabel.  Neither  do  I,  father.  I  am 
having  enough  trouble  with  my  studies 
without  adding  the  cares  of  an  es 
tablishment. 


The  Return  of  Christmas         79 

Mrs.  Randolph.  You  are  a  very  sen 
sible  child,  Mabel. 

Randolph  (with  a  laugh}.  That  seems 
to  settle  the  house  business,  Claus. 

Santa  Claus.  It's  as  you  say,  sir.  I 
aim  to  please.  We  are  advertised  by 
our  loving  friends.  (Puts  books  .  and 
deeds  away.) 

Randolph  (aside  to  Santa).  Just  leave 
that  hundred  -  and  -  twenty  -  thousand- 
dollar  Bar  Harbor  property  here,  Claus. 
I'll  put  it  in  Mrs.  Randolph's  stocking 
myself. 

Santa  Claus  (aside).  All  right.  You'll 
never  regret  it,  sir.  (Aloud.)  What 
would  you  think  of  an  opera-box, 
Thomas?  I  have  one  for  thirty  thou 
sand  dollars. 

Tommy.  I'd  rather  have  a  music-box 
for  thirty  cents. 

Randolph.  Gad!  He's  a  clever  boy. 
I've  made  that  same  distinction  myself. 

Mrs.  Randolph.  Don't  be  vulgar, 
Thomas. 


8o         The  Return  of  Christmas 

Santa  Claus  (holding  up  a  large  pearl 
necklace,  each  pearl  of  which  is  as  large 
as  a  marrowfat  pea}.  How  would  this 
do  for  the  little  girl  ? 

Mrs.  Randolph  (taking  it  and  in 
specting  it  closely).  It  is  very  beautiful. 
What  perfectly  matched  pearls! 

Santa  Claus.  You  couldn't  duplicate 
it,  madam,  for  fifty  thousand  dollars. 

Mabel  (aside  to  Tommy).  Have  I  got 
to  take  it? 

Tommy  (aside  to  Mabel).  No.  Don't 
you  do  it.  They  aren't  big  enough  to 
play  marbles  with. 

Randolph.  Well,  Mabel,  what  do  you 
say? 

Mabel.  They're  too   small,    father. 

Randolph  (aside).  Great  Scott!  Too 
small ! 

Mrs.  Randolph.  You  are  difficult  to 
please,  my  child. 

Mabel.  I'd  prefer  them  as  big  as 
china-alleys. 

Mrs.  Randolph.  Mercy,    Miss    Wood- 


The  Return  of  Christmas         81 

bridge,  where  has  Mabel  got  such  ex 
travagant  ideas? 

Tommy  (laughing,  aside  to  Mabel).  We 
got  'em  at  the  marble  counter  at  Penny- 
packer's,  didn't  we? 

Mabel.  Of  course  I'll  take  them,  fa 
ther,  if  you  wish,  but  I'd  rather  not, 
unless  the  pearls  are  larger. 

Santa  Claus.  How  will  this  one  do? 
(Takes  out  a  necklace  with  pearls  as  large 
as  agates.} 

Tommy.  Dandy! 

Mabel.  I  should  like  that,  father. 
Mrs.     Randolph     (looking    at    Mabel 
through  her  lorgnette}.  What  a  remark 
able  child! 

[Santa  Claus  hands  Mabel  the  neck 
lace.  She  hands  it  to  Tommy, 
who  plumps  himself  down  on  the 
•floor,  breaks  the  string,  and  shakes 
the  pearls  from  it.  Santa  Claus 
laughs  quietly. 

Mrs.  Randolph.  Thomas,  do  be  care 
ful!  Are  they  really  pearls,  Mr.  Claus? 


82         The  Return  of  Christmas 

Santa  Claus.  Yes,  madam,  and  so  ab 
solutely  flawless  that  even  an  expert 
cannot  tell  them  from  the  imitation. 

Mabel  (sitting  on  floor  two  yards  away 
from  Tommy,  and  facing  him).  It's  all 
right,  mother.  We  only  wanted  them 
to  play  marbles  with.  (Tommy  rolls 
half  the  pearls  over  to  her.) 

Mrs.  Randolph  (shows  signs  of  faint- 
ness,  and  puts  smelling-salts  to  her  nose). 
Marbles !  Miss  Woodbridge 

Santa  Claus  (aside).  They  are  human, 
after  all! 

Randolph  (pridefully) .  Gad,  that  boy 
handles  pearls  as  if  they  were  railroads! 

Mrs.  Randolph.  But,  Edward,  are  you 
going  to  permit  your  children  to  play 
marbles  with — (gasps) — with  pearls? 

Randolph  (as  Tommy  flicks  a  pearl 
across  to  where  Mabel  has  set  three  others 
in  a  row,  missing  them).  Well,  my  dear, 
of  course  I'd  rather  they'd  play  marbles 
with  marbles,  but — well,  blood  will  tell. 

Tommy  (making  a  second  effort  to  score 


ARE    YOU    GOING     TO    PERMIT    YOjLj'tf    C^IUJDRpX  '?6;  ?L'A\ 
MARBLES     WITH     PIV.K  I«"s**l'l  •  •  •  *  *     '•'' 


The  Return  of  Christmas         83 

and  again  missing).  Oh,  pshaw!  These 
aren't  any  good.  They're  too  light. 
Say,  father,  can't  we  swap  them  off  for 
a  hundred  dollars'  worth  of  real  miggs? 

Mrs.  Randolph.  Miggs!  What  a  ple 
beian  word ! 

Randolph  (kneeling  beside  Tommy). 
Let  me  try  it,  my  son.  (Flicks  a  pearl 
across  the  room.)  You  are  perfectly 
right.  They  are  too  light.  Glaus,  have 
you  got  any  real  marbles  for  the 
children  ? 

Santa  Claus.  Not  at  that  price,  sir. 

Randolph.  Money  is  no  object  with 
us.  What  would  the  best  bag  of  marbles 
in  all  the  world  cost? 

Santa  Claus.  About  a  dollar  and  a 
half 

Tommy.  Whoopee!  That's  what  I 
want,  father! 

Randolph.  You  shall  have  them,  my 
son. 

Santa  Claus  (reaching  down  into  the 
suit-case).  I  always  carry  them  for  an 


84         The  Return  of  Christmas 

emergency.     (Produces  red  flannel  bag 
bulging  with  marbles.} 

Mabel  (gathering  up  the  pearls).  Here 
are  your  pearls,  Mr.  Claus.  I  think  I'd 
like  a  bag  of  marbles,  too. 

Mrs.  Randolph.  Possibly  a  set  of 
books  would  do  better  for  a  young  lady. 
Have  you  a  set  of — er — George  Eliot,  or 
— er — de  Maupassant  in  tree-calf,  Mr. 
Claus  ? 

Mabel.  Or  Little  Red  Riding-Hood  in 
a  yellow-and-red  shiny  cover?  I  saw 
a  Little  Red  Riding-Hood  at  Penny- 
packer's,  mother,  and  really  I  liked  it 
better  than  Mrs.  Humphry  Ward,  even. 

Randolph  (aside).  By  Jingo,  I  didn't 
know  I  had  such  interesting  children! 

Santa  Claus.  I  have  the  Little  Red 
Riding-Hood — but  again  the  price  may — 

Randolph.  Confound  it,  let  the  child 
have  it!  I'll  buy  it  if  I  have  to  sell  a 
couple  of  railroads  to  pay  for  it.  What's 
the  tax,  Claus? 

Santa  Claus.  Seventy-five    cents. 


The  Return  of  Christmas         85 

Randolph.  It's  a  bargain! 

[Santa  Glaus  takes  the  book  from  his 
suit-case  and  hands  it  to  Mabel, 
who    immediately    walks    to     her 
mother's  side  and  places  the  book, 
open,  on  her  mother's  lap. 
Mabel.  Would  you  like  to  look  at  the 
pictures,  Mrs.  Randolph? 

Mrs.  Randolph  (stroking  Mabel's  hair). 
Yes — dear.     Only  don't  call  me  that. 
Mabel.  But  you  are  that,  aren't  you? 
Mrs.  Randolph.  Yes,    but    I'm    also 
your  mother.     I  had  a  mother,  too,  once 
—oh,  a  great  many  years  ago!     I  used 
to  call  her  "dearie." 

Mabel  That's  very  pretty.  Maybe 
when  we  get  better  acquainted  I  can  call 
you  "dearie,"  too. 

Mrs.  Randolph.  Yes  —  and  perhaps 
if  you  began  to  practise  it  now— 

Mabel.  I  will — dearie.  It  comes  aw 
fully  easy — doesn't  it  ?  (Climbs  into  her 
mother's  lap  and  kisses  her}.  Now  we 
can  look  at  the  pictures  together. 


86         The  Return  of  Christmas 

Enter  Grimmins. 

Grimmins.  The  car  is  at  the  door, 
madam. 

Mrs.  Randolph.  The  car? 

Randolph.  Yes  —  you  are  going  to 
the  Hawkins'  for  bridge,  aren't  you? 

Mabel.  Don't  you  do  it,  dearie.  Stay 
here  and  read  to  me,  won't  you? 

Mrs.  Randolph.  Why,  Mabel,  dear,  I 
— I — why,  yes,  of  course  I  will.  I — I 
don't  think  I  shall  go  out  to-night, 
Edward.  Miss  Woodbridge,  will  you 
please  write  a  note  and  send  it  to  Mrs. 
Hawkins  by  Williamson,  saying  that  I 
— that  I  am  detained  at  home  to-night, 
and  shall  be  unable  to  join  her  partv  at 
bridge  ? 

Miss  Woodbridge.  Yes,  Mrs.  Ran 
dolph.  [Exit. 

Santa  Claus  (gathering  up  his  stuff 
and  closing  the  bag  with  a  smile).  I  am 
afraid,  Mr.  Randolph,  that  I  got  the 
wrong  line  on  these  children  of  yours. 
I'll  go  out  and  get  my  other  pack. 


The  Return  of  Christmas         87 

Randolph.  All  right! 
Santa  Claus.  I  sha'n't  be  a  minute. 

[Exit. 

Tommy  (on  the  floor).  Say,  Randolph, 
let's  have  a  game ! 

Randolph.  What's  that  you  call  me, 
you  young  rascal? 

Tommy.  Why,  it's  your  name,  isn't  it? 

Randolph.  Not  to  you,  Mr.  Saucebox. 

My  name  to  you,  sir,  from  this  time  on 

is  "daddy."     Understand?     D-a-d-d-y, 

daddy. 

Tommy.  All  right,  daddy.    Say — you 
can  call  me  Tommy,  if  you  like. 

[They    begin    a    game    of    marbles. 
Santa  Claus  returns.    This  time  he 
is  dressed  in  his  fur  coat,  and  he 
has  sleigh-bells  around  his  waist, 
a  fur  cap,  and  all  the  other  attri 
butes  of  the  Santa  Claus  of  old. 
He  plants  a  big  pack  of  toys  on  the 
floor  and  leaves  the  room  again. 
Mabel    (tapping   pages   of    Little  Red 
Riding- Hood).    Read  that,  dearie. 


88         The  Return  of  Christmas 

Mrs.  Randolph  (reading).  "  Once  upon 
a  time  there  was  a  little  girl — " 

Tommy.  Here  now — fen  dubs!  You 
got  to  play  fair,  daddy. 

Randolph.  I — I  was  thinking  of  some 
thing  else,  Tommy.  You'll  have  to  ex 
cuse  me  if  I  break  the  rules — it's  so  long 
since — 

[Enter  Santa  Claus,  carrying  a 
Christmas-tree  covered  with  span 
gles,  lustres,  etcetera. 

Santa  Claus.  There,  Mr.  Randolph. 
That  completes  the  lay-out! 

Randolph.  Fine!  Like  old  times — eh, 
Amanda  ? 

Mrs.  Randolph.  Oh,  isn't  it  beautiful, 
Mabel? 

Mabel.  It  ain't  as  beautiful  as  you 
are.  (Hugs  her  mother.) 

Santa  Claus.  I  don't  know  how  I 
came  to  make  so  many  mistakes  in  the 
beginning,  children. 

Tommy.  Don't  mention  it,  Santa 
Claus.  You're  all  right.  You've  de- 


The  Return  of  Christmas         89 

livered  the  goods,  and  now  that  you've 
changed  your  clothes  you  look  like  the 
real  thing! 

Mabel.  Only,  next  time  get  your 
things  at  Pennypacker's,  Mr.  Glaus. 
They  know  children  there. 

Randolph.  I  guess  they  do — I  guess 
they  do.  It's  all  my  fault,  Glaus. 
I've  been  studying  markets  exclusively 
lately,  and  haven't  had  a  line  on  the 
youngsters  for  too  long  a  time. 

Mrs.  Randolph.  We  didn't  know  our 
selves,  Mr.  Glaus,  until  a  minute  ago. 

Santa  Clans.  Well,  it's  all  right,  any 
how.  The  whole  four  of  you  have  got 
the  best  Christmas  anybody  could  have 
—that's  the  old-timer,  and  I'm  just  as 
glad  to  see  it  back  as  you  are.  Good 
night,  Tommy! 

Tommy  (rising  and  shaking  hands 
with  Santa  Claus).  Good-night,  sir.  Al 
ways  glad  to  see  you.  Wouldn't  mind 
if  you  came  once  a  month! 

Mabel.  Good-night,  Mr.  Claus.  Thank 


90         The  Return  of  Christmas 

you  for  the  beautiful  book — I'd  rather 
have  it  than  anything  else  I  know  of. 
(Runs  to  him  and  kisses  him.  Santa 
Glaus  salutes  all,  and  exit.) 

Enter  Grimmins. 

Grimmins.  A  telephone  from  Judge 
Astorbilt  at  the  Castoria,  sir.  He 
would  like  to  know  when  you  will  be 
down. 

Randolph.  Great  Scott!  I'd  forgotten 
all  about  the  Chloroform  Trust.  Tell 
him — 

Mrs.  Randolph.  Is  it  so  very  impor 
tant,  Edward? 

Randolph  (hesitating).  Well,  no.  Only 
two  or  three  millions  in  it  for  me.  Er— 
Grimmins ! 

Grimmins.  Yes,  sir. 
Randolph.  Tell  them  to  tell  Judge 
Astorbilt  that  I  am  unexpectedly  de 
tained  at  home  by  important  matters. 
Important  matters,  mind  you— I'll  skin 
you  yet,  Tommy! — and  that  I'll  see  him 
at  my  office  the  day  after  to-morrow— 


The  Return  of  Christmas         91 

no,  by  Jove,  not  the  day  after  to-morrow, 
but  the  day  after  New  Year's. 

Grimmins.  Yes,  sir.  [Exit. 

Enter  Miss  Woodbridge. 

Miss  Woodbridge.  It  is  time  you  were 
in  bed,  Thomas.  Come,  Mabel. 

Mrs.  Randolph.  Not  to-night,  Miss 
Woodbridge — we'll  let  them  stay  up  to 
night. 

Tommy.  Fen  inching  there! 

Mrs.  Randolph.  And  you  need  not 
wait  up,  Miss  Woodbridge.  I — I  will 
put  the  children  to  bed  myself  to-night. 
I  wish  you  a  merry  Christmas ! 

Miss  Woodbridge.  Good-night,  mad 
am.  The  same  to  you.  [Exit. 

Mrs.  Randolph.  Come  back  here  on 
my  lap,  Mabel,  dear.  We  must  go 
on  with  this  exciting  story,  and  learn 
what  happened  to  Little  Red  Riding- 
Hood. 

Mabel.  Begin  at  the  beginning,  dearie, 
and  I'll  pay  you  a  kiss  a  page;  and  here's 
a  half-dozen  in  advance. 


92         The  Return  of  Christmas 

Mrs.  Randolph.  Thank  you,  dear,  and 
here  is  your  change.  (Kisses  Mabel 
three  times,  smiles,  and  begins  reading). 
"Once  upon  a  time  there  was  a  little 
girl  who  lived  on  the  edge  of  a  wood, 
and  her  grandmother — " 


CURTAIN 


THE    SIDE-SHOW 


THE    SIDE-SHOW 


DRAMATIS  PERSONS 

Mr.  GASSAWAY,  a  lecturer. 

TINY,  the  Titanic  Dwarf.     Height,  six  feet  two  inches. 

SAWDOFF,  The  Diminutive  Giant.     Height,  four  feet  five 

inches. 

MADEMOISELLE  OUTASIGHTI,  The  Invisible  Soprano. 
PROFESSOR  HIRSUTUS.  the  Bearded  Man. 
SIGNOR   DEL  FATTO,   the   Living  Skeleton.     Weight   280 

pounds. 

Mo-Mo,  the  Boy  with  the  Human  Face. 
IGNOTA,  the  Domestic  Wonder. 
MADAME  PANINI,  the  Culinary  Curio. 
AMANDA,  the  Pheminine  Phenomenon. 

Scene — The  proscenium  arch  of  an  im 
provised  theatre.  The  curtain  rising 
shows  a  space  of  four  feet  in  depth,  full 
width  of  stage,  at  the  rear  of  which 
hang  curtains,  divided  at  centre  like 
portieres,  of  "  The  Great  and  Only 
Gassaway's  Freak  Show."  Two  lads 
stand  facing  audience,  holding  por 
tieres. 


96  The  Side-Show 

Enter  Mr.  Gassaway.  He  is  a  man 
of  considerable  nerve,  unctuous  in  man 
ner  and  in  general  appearance  resem 
bles  a  mixture  of  the  unappreciated 
tragedian  and  a  politician  in  a  lean 
year.  He  is  armed  with  a  rattan 
cane. 

Gassaway.  Ladies  and  gentlemen,  it  is 
my  proud  privilege  this  evening  to  in 
troduce  to  your  notice  the  greatest 
aggregation  of  social  marvels  that  has 
ever  been  gathered  together  in  any 
known  period  of  history,  or  at  any  place 
that  is  now  to  be  found  upon  any  of  the 
recognized  maps  of  the  earth.  It  is 
not  excelled  anywhere — not  even  in  this 
glorious  country  of  ours,  which  the  poet 
has  so  aptly  termed  "the  Home  of  the 
Brave  and  the  Land  of  the  Freak." 
What  their  cost  to  me  has  been  I  can 
only  intimate  to  you  by  saying  that  I 
keep  them  insured  for  six  million  nine 
hundred  and  forty-three  thousand  four 
hundred  and  seventy-seven  dollars  and 


The  Side-Show  97 

sixty-three  cents.  This  includes  life, 
fire,  and  burglar  insurance,  for  which  in 
premiums  alone  I  pay  eight  hundred 
and  ninety-eight  thousand  dollars  per 
annum.  (A  crash  as  of  broken  glass  is 
heard  without.  Gassaway  starts  ner 
vously  and  clutches  his  forehead  with  his 
left  hand.)  Excuse  me  just  one  mo 
ment. 

[Exit  Gassaway.     His  voice  is  heard 
outside. 

What's   that?      Great   Scott — Jones, 
if  this  happens  again  I'll  discharge  you. 
[Gassaway    re-enters,    calling    back 
into  the  wings. 

Such  outrageous  carelessness!  (Turn 
ing  to  audience.}  I  am  sorry  to  have  to 
announce,  ladies  and  gentlemen,  that 
through  the  carelessness  of  one  of  my 
stage  -  hands  our  world  -  famous  Brid- 
getine,  the  Maid  That  Never  Breaks 
Anything,  secured  at  a  cost  of  $60,000, 
has  tripped  over  a  hassock  on  the 
floor  and  broken  all  the  glass  and 


98  The  Side-Show 

china    ware    in    the    house.     I    doubt 
if    the    material    can    be    repaired    in 
time    for    this    evening's    performance, 
although  I  have  on  hand  a  few  bottles 
remaining  of  my  famous  Liquid  Stick- 
fast,  warranted  to  hold  inseparably  to 
gether  any  two  articles  desired  to  be  made 
fast  to  each  other,  for  sale  at  ten  cents 
a  bottle.     (Takes  bottle  from  pocket  and 
holds  it  up  between  his  thumb  and  fore 
finger.)     It   is    an    excellent    household 
preparation,    and,    as    evidence    of    its 
power,  let  me  tell  you  that  the  Sultan 
of  Bangabang  in  India  last  year,  in  order 
to  test  its  efficacy,  placed  a  drop  of  it 
on  the  tip  end  of  the  tails  of  two  ele 
phants,    the    which,    when    placed    to 
gether  and  held  for  two  minutes,  the 
elephants    themselves,    each    weighing 
thirty  tons,  were  unable  to  pull  apart. 
We    were    compelled    subsequently    to 
cut  the  elephants'  tails  off  in  order  that 
they  might  be  returned  to  their  usual 
occupation  of  drawing  the  Sultan's  au- 


The  Side-Show  99 

tomobile.  Any  lady  desiring  a  bottle 
of  this  incomparable  preparation  for  the 
mending  of  furniture,  broken  china,  or 
keeping  her  husband  at  home  nights  by 
sprinkling  it  on  his  chair,  will  please 
apply  at  the  box-office  on  the  way  out, 
or  notify  the  ushers,  who  are  authorized 
to  take  orders  for  Gassaway's  Invinci 
ble  Adhesive.  It  is  especially  recom 
mended  for  fastening  postage- stamps  on 
letters. 

And  now,  ladies  and  gentlemen,  for 
our  exhibition.  The  first  of  the  freaks 
which  I  will  show  you  is  the  world- 
famous  Tiny,  the  Titanic  Dwarf.  He 
was  captured  on  the  Congo  four  years 
ago  by  my  agents,  who  had  been  in 
structed  to  spare  no  expense  in  securing 
for  me  something  novel  in  the  way  of 
dwarfs.  I  think  you  will  agree  with  me 
that  in  Titanic  Tiny  they  have  succeeded 
in  unearthing  a  dwarf  unlike  any  other 
dwarf  you  have  ever  seen  before.  Cur 
tain. 


ioo  The  Side-Show 

[The  boys  draw  the  curtains  aside. 
Behind  them  is  a  small  dais  sur 
rounded  on  all  sides  by  dark 
hangings.  On  the  dais  stands 
Tiny,  the  Titanic  Dwarf.  He  is 
black  as  the  ace  of  spades,  and 
has  a  grin  as  wide  almost  as  space. 
He  stands  six  feet  two  inches  in 
his  stockings  and  is  broad  in  pro 
portion. 

Look  at  him,  ladies  and  gentlemen, 
and  tell  me  if  in  any  other  aggregation 
of  astonishing  actualities  you  have  ever 
beheld  a  dwarf  of  his  dimensions  ?  Look 
at  his  stature.  Glance  at  those  pro 
portions,  and  with  your  hand  on  your 
heart  state  to  me  the  real  truth.  Was 
there  ever  before  a  dwarf  of  his  height, 
breadth,  depth,  and  general  thickness? 
(Raps  him  on  the  head  with  his  rattan 
stick,  producing  a  hard,  wooden  sound.} 
You  have  seen  dwarfs  two  feet  high, 
possibly  even  three  feet  nine  inches, 
but  when  or  where  have  you  encountered 


The  Side-ShloW/,        ;;-IOK 

one  who  from  top  to  toe  measures  six 
feet  two  inches?  I  offer  ten  thousand 
dollars  in  gold  to  any  purchaser  of  my 
famous  adhesive  who  will  produce  an 
other  dwarf  who  is  his  equal  in  all 
respects.  You  will  find  his  photograph 
on  sale  in  the  lobby  at  ten  cents  apiece. 
Curtain. 

[The  boys  lower  the  curtain.     A  tall 
man  rises  in  the  audience. 

Tall  Man.  I'll  take  that  $10,000,  Mr. 
Gassaway.  I'm  a  dwarf  myself.  I 
don't  look  it,  but  I  am. 

Gassaway.  You  do  look  it,  sir — but 
have  you  purchased  any  of  my  Liquid 
Invincible  Adhesive? 

Tall  Man.  No,  sir. 

Gassaway.  Then  I  regret  to  inform 
you,  sir,  that  you  are  not  eligible.  I 
distinctly  said,  to  any  purchaser  of  my 
famous  Gumstickum.  Moreover,  you 
are  not  his  equal.  Socially  you  are  his 
superior.  Our  next  exhibit,  ladies  and 
gentlemen,  is  equally  marvellous — Sawd- 


802    < ;          The  Side-Show 

off,  the  Diminutive  Giant,  the  shortest 
ogre  in  the  universe.     Curtain. 

[The  boys  draw  the  curtains  aside  and 
Sawdoff  is  revealed  standing  upon 
the   dais.     He   is   not  more   than 
four  feet  five  inches  in  height.     He 
scowls    fearfully,     and    twirls    a 
fierce-looking  club  in  his  hands. 
There  you  are,  ladies  and  gentlemen — 
a  veritable  ogre.    He  was  found  on  the 
back  steppes  of  Russia  by  a  party  of 
mining  engineers  engaged  in  building  a 
trans-Ural  subway  connecting  Bombay 
with  St.  Petersburg.  After  devouring  ten 
members  of   the   expedition,  for   he   is 
a  Cannibal,  he  was   captured   and   in 
carcerated  in  a  cage.     Biting  his  way 
through   the   bars,  he   escaped,  and   to 
gratify  his  insatiable  appetite  ate  seven 
teen    rods    of    surveyors'    chains,    five 
telescopes,  the    tonneau    of    the   chief- 
engineer's  automobile,   and  drank  six 
teen    gallons    of    wood    gasolene.     The 
latter  threw  him  into  such  a  stupor  that 


The  Side-Show  103 

he  was  recaptured  without  difficulty, 
sent  to  a  reform  school  in  New  York, 
and  is  now  quite  tame.  You  have  seen 
giants  of  great  height  in  the  past, 
perhaps,  but  never  one  as  short  as  he. 
He  considers  brevity  the  soul  of  wit 
and — 

Sawdoff  (rolling  his  eyes  hungrily).  Pst! 
Gassaway.  What  is  it,  Sawdoff? 
[Sawdoff    whispers    in    Gassaway's 
ear,  and  grins,  pointing  out  at  the 
audience. 

Gassaway.  He  says  he  is  very  hun 
gry,  ladies  and  gentlemen,  and  he  won 
ders  if  any  kind  lady  in  the  audience 
will  let  him  have  a  nice,  fat,  little  grilled 
boy  or  girl,  not  more  than  two  years  old, 
for  luncheon?     He  promises  to  eat  it 
very  tenderly.    (A  pause.)    Such  an  op 
portunity  is  not  likely  to  occur  again, 
ladies  and  gentlemen,  let  me  assure  you. 
[Sawdoff  gazes  hungrily  out  at  au 
dience,  smacking  his  lips  in  an 
ticipation. 


104  The  Side-Show 

Maybe  some  of  you  would  give  him 
one  of  your  neighbor's  children — any 
thing  at  all  in  the  way  of  a  nice,  fat, 
juicy  baby  will  satisfy  him  ?  (A  pause.) 
It's  a  wonderful  sight —  No?  Well, 
Sawdoff,  I  observe  a  slight  inclination 
on  the  part  of  the  audience  not  to  oblige 
you.  You'll  have  to  content  yourself 
with  one  of  the  ushers  after  the  show 
is  over.  I'll  pick  out  a  nice  tender  one 
for  you,  so  don't  worry. 

[Sawdoff  weeps. 

Gassaway.  Curtain.  (Boys  let  down 
curtains.)  You  see  how  gentle  the  poor 
fellow  is.  (Gassaway  wipes  his  own 
eyes  as  if  much  affected.)  It  hurts  him 
deeply  to  find  such  a  lack  of  confidence 
in  him.  Fact  is,  it  crops  out  every 
where,  and  for  the  three  years  I  have  had 
him  I've  been  utterly  unable  to  secure 
a  baby  of  any  kind,  fat  or  otherwise, 
for  his  luncheon.  Parents  seem  to  be 
afraid  it  will  hurt  the  little  ones,  failing 
to  note  that  he  swallows  them  whole, 


The  Side-Show  105 

without  the  painful  process  of  chewing. 
Numerous  maiden  aunts  and  mothers-in- 
law  have  been  offered  freely,  but  never 
an  infant,  and  Sawdoff  feels  the  situa 
tion  keenly.  If  you  would  get  some 
idea  of  the  effect  of  this  diet  upon  his 
digestion,  just  try  to  eat  a  couple  of 
maiden  aunts  and  a  mother-in-law  some 
day  yourself,  and  you'll  see.  But 
enough  of  the  trials  of  Sawdoff.  I  take 
a  peculiar  pride  in  my  next  exhibit, 
ladies  and  gentlemen.  I  have  been  in 
the  show  business  for  thirty-seven  years 
and  never  have  I  seen  anything  like 
this  Pheminine  Phenomenon  about  to  be 
shown  to  you.  Mr.  Flammerstein,  the 
eminent  impresario  of  New  York,  has 
offered  me  two  hundred  thousand  dollars 
for  her,  but  I  would  not  let  her  go  for 
ten  times  that  amount.  Curtain,  boys. 
[Boys  draw  curtains  aside.  A  young 
girl  of  twenty  one  or  two  stands 
on  the  dais,  smiling.  She  is 
dressed  in  a  sort  of  Commencement 


106  The  Side-Show 

gown  and  stands  with  her  hands 
outstretched  as  if  about  to  recite. 

There  she  is.  Amanda,  the  Phe 
nomenal  Recitationist.  She  is  the  only 
girl  in  the  world,  ladies  and  gentle 
men,  who  knows  The  Curfew  Shall  Not 
Ring  To-night  by  heart,  and  absolute 
ly  refuses  under  any  circumstances  what 
ever  to  recite  it,  and  I  will  prove  it  to 
you.  Amanda  ? 

Amanda.  Yes,  sir. 

Gassaway.  Tell  these  ladies  and  gentle 
men — do  you  know  that  beautiful  poem, 
The  Curfew  Shall  Not  Ring  To-night? 

Amanda.  I  do.     I  know  it  by  heart. 

Gassaway.  You  see,  ladies  and  gen 
tlemen,  she  admits  it  herself.  Now, 
Amanda,  will  you  recite  it  for  us  ? 

Amanda.  Not  for  ten  thousand  dollars, 
sir. 

Gassaway.  Amanda,  I  will  give  you 
twenty  thousand  dollars  and  a  box  of 
caramels  if  you  will  recite  The  Curfew 
Shall  Not  Ring  To-night. 


The  Side-Show  107 

Amanda.  Nope. 

Gassaway.  Thirty  thousand  dollars 
and  a  ticket  for  the  Faversham  matine'e. 

Amanda  (shakes  her  head  positively}. 
It  is  useless  to  ask,  Mr.  Gassaway. 

Gassaway.  Now,  ladies  and  gentle 
men,  as  evidence  of  our  good  faith,  has 
any  gentleman  in  the  audience  any  offer 
to  make?  Don't  be  afraid.  I  know 
her.  (An  usher  walks  down  middle 
aisle  and  hands  a  note  over  footlights  to 
Gassaway.) 

Gassaway  (opening  letter} .  What's  this  ? 
(Reads.}  Ha!  Good.  Amanda,  there's 
a  gentleman  back  in  the  sixteenth  row 
who  will  give  you  forty  thousand  dollars' 
worth  of  green-trading  stamps,  redeem 
able  in  hand-painted  crockery,  mission 
furniture,  and  kerosene  lamps,  if  you 
will  recite  The  Curfew  Shall  Not  Ring 
To-night.  What  do  you  say? 

Amanda  (stamping  her  foot  impa 
tiently}.  Never! 

Gassaway.  Is   it  any   wonder,    ladies 


io8  The  Side-Show 

and  gentlemen,  that  Mr.  Flammerstein 
wants  Amanda  at  almost  any  price? 
Curtain. 

[Boys  draw  curtains  together. 
Now,  ladies  and  gentlemen,  the  next 
exhibit  on  the  programme  was  to 
have  been  my  famous  Boneyparte,  the 
Ossified  Book  Agent,  but  I  regret  to 
say  that  going  from  Chicago  to  Phila 
delphia  last  week,  Bow-Bow,  the  Dog- 
Faced  Dachshund,  got  loose  in  the 
car  and  chewed  him  all  to  pieces,  sub 
sequently  himself  dying  from  an  acute 
attack  of  appendicitis  as  a  result  of  his 
unbridled  appetite.  We  are  therefore 
compelled,  regretfully,  to  omit  Boney 
parte  and  to  go  right  on  to  the  next 
wonder  of  whom  you  may  have  heard. 
He  is  possibly  the  most  widely  ad 
vertised  freak  of  the  age,  Professor 
Hirsutus  the  Bearded  Gentleman.  Cur 
tain. 

[Boys  draw  curtains  aside  revealing 
Professor  Hirsutus,  a  man  with  a 


The  Side-Show  109 

flowing  black  beard,  bearing  a 
more  or  less  marked  resemblance 
to  Svengali. 

In  other  freak  shows,  ladies  and  gen 
tlemen,  you  will  find  bearded  ladies  so 
numerous  that  there  really  has  ceased  to 
be  anything  particularly  novel  about 
them,  but  a  Bearded  Gentleman — where, 
may  I  ask,  in  all  the  freak  firmament  do 
you  find  such  a  capillary  attraction  as 
that?  Look  at  him.  A  man  of  consider 
able  impressiveness,  is  he  not  ?  And  grow 
ing  on  his  chin,  a  beard — a  black  beard 
— of  real  hair.  And  in  order  that  you 
may  have  no  misgivings  as  to  its  gen 
uineness,  I  will  pull  it.  (Steps  forward 
and  tweaks  the  Professor's  beard.) 

Hirsutus.  Ow — wow!     Stop  that! 

Gassaway.  You  see,  ladies  and  gentle 
men — (pulling  beard  again.) 

Hirsutus.  Ouch!     Quit  it,  will  you? 

Gassaway.  It  not  only  does  not  come 
off,  but  when  tweaked  actually  imparts 
a  painful  sensation  to  the  Professor's 


no  The  Side-Show 

chin  that  causes  him  to  wince,  to  pro 
test  audibly.  And  all  of  this,  my 
friends,  is  a  natural  growth,  as  the 
Professor  will  tell  you  himself,  if  after 
our  programme  is  finished  you  will  stop 
and  purchase  some  of  his  famous  tonic 
by  the  use  of  which  he  manages  to  pre 
serve  that  which  nature  has  given  him 
in  all  its  pristine  silky  beauty,  at  the 
rate  of  ten  cents  a  bottle.  Curtain,  if 
you  please,  young  gentlemen. 

[Boys  draw  curtains  together. 
The  next  attraction  on  our  programme 
is  Signor  Del  Fatto,  the  Living  Skeleton. 
Of  course,  ladies  and  gentlemen,  there 
are  few  of  you  who  have  not  attended 
side-shows  of  one  kind  or  another  in  the 
course  of  a  misspent  life,  but  I'll  warrant 
that  never  have  any  of  you  seen  a 
living  skeleton  like  Signor  Del  Fatto. 
What  I  claim  for  him  is  that  he  has  none 
of  that  repulsiveness  which  makes  the 
average  living  skeleton  a  more  or  less 
painful  object  to  look  upon.  There  is 


The  Side-Show  in 

none  of  that  egregious  gauntness  about 
him  that  leads  you  to  feel  that  he  is 
slowly  but  surely  starving  to  death,  so 
characteristic  of  the  most  famous  living 
skeletons  of  the  past.  There  is  none 
of  that  hungering  misery  in  his  face  that 
arouses  rather  your  deep  sympathy  than 
your  admiring  wonder.  Your  impulse 
on  seeing  him  is  rather  to  rejoice  in  his 
sleek  prosperity  than  to  charge  the  man 
agement  with  cruelty  to  its  freaks — but 
enough  of  description.  We  will  let  the 
Living  Skeleton  speak  for  himself.  Cur 
tain,  young  gentlemen. 

[Boys  draw  curtains  to  one  side. 
Sitting  on  dais  in  a  comfortable 
arm-chair  is  a  cheerful  -  looking 
man  of  oleaginous  personality, 
who  weighs  about  two  hundred  and 
eighty  pounds.  In  general  ap 
pearance  he  resembles  Dickens' 
fat  boy.  As  curtains  reach  their 
height,  he  rises  and  bows  with  a 
well-fed  smile  to  the  audience. 


H2  The  Side-Show 

There  you  are,  my  friends.  Look  at 
him.  Turn  around,  Signor  Del  Fatto,  and 
let  the  ladies  and  gentlemen  gaze  upon 
your  back— sixty-two  inches  broad.  His 
waist—  (takes  a  tape-measure  from  his 
pocket  and  measures  Signor  Del  Fatto 's 

waist  line,  holding  out  tape  at  finish} 

his  waist  measurement  is  one  hundred 
and  forty-four  inches,  or  four  yards.     If 
any  gentleman— or  lady  either— in  the 
audience  will  submit  proofs  to  me  of 
their  ever  having  seen  elsewhere  a  Liv 
ing   Skeleton   of  such   circumference,   I 
will  cheerfully  hand  him  my  personal 
check  for  ten  thousand  dollars.     I  will 
go    further    and    knock    off    thirty-six 
inches,  or  one  ordinary  waist,  and  say 
that  if  you  can  bring  ten  witnesses  who 
will  swear  that  they  have  seen  in  any  of 
the  high,  low,  or  middle  class  side-shows 
of  Europe,  Asia,  Africa,  or  the  United 
States    a    Living    Skeleton    measuring 
three  yards  about  the  waist-line  I  will 
give  fifteen  thousand  dollars'  worth  of 


The  Side-Show  113 

my  Invincible  Adhesive  to  any  orphan 
asylum  he  may  name.  (Pauses.}  No 
one  takes  me  up.  I  thought  so,  and,  to 
be  quite  frank  with  you,  I  would  not 
have  made  the  offer  had  I  not  been  sure 
that  you  could  not,  for  Signer  Del 
Fatto  is  the  only  Living  Skeleton  of  his 
kind.  How  much  do  you  weigh,  Signer  ? 

Del  Fatto.  Before  or  after? 

Gassaway.  Before  or  after  what,  Sig- 
nor? 

Del  Fatto.  Dinner,  sir. 

Gassaway.  Oh,  you  might  give  us 
both  figures.  You  note,  ladies  and  gen 
tlemen,  that  he  has  two  figures,  while 
most  Living  Skeletons  have  only  one. 
What  are  the  figures,  Del  Fatto  ? 

Del  Fatto.  Two  hundred  and  eighty- 
two  pounds  before  dinner. 

Gassaway.  Yes.     And  after  dinner? 

Del  Fatto.  Well,  it  depends  upon  the 
dinner,  Mr.  Gassaway,  but  most  gen 
erally  on  salary  day,  sir,  three  hundred 
and  eleven  pounds,  sir. 


114  The  Side-Show 

Gassaway  (triumphantly] .  Think  of  it ! 
A  Living  Skeleton  weighing  three  hun 
dred  and  eleven  pounds,  ladies  and 
gentlemen.  I  challenge  the  world  to 
produce  another  like  him,  and  when  I 
think  that  I  am  willing  to  let  you  see 
him  for  so  insignificant  a  sum  as  one 
dime,  charging  nothing  for  my  other 
attractions,  I  wonder — yes,  ladies  and 
gentlemen,  I  actually  wonder  at  my 
moderation.  Mr.  John  P.  Pennypacker, 
with  all  his  vast  wealth,  would  have 
charged  you  at  least  a  quarter.  Cur 
tain.  Good-bye,  Signor. 

[Del  Fatto  bows  and  boys  draw  cur 
tains  together. 

Gassaway.  I  am  not  going  to  describe 
the  next  freak,  ladies  and  gentlemen, 
best  known  as  the  Man  from  Bingham- 
ton.  No  words  of  mine  could  do  justice 
to  his  unique  oddity.  All  I  will  say  to 
you  about  him  is  that  he  is  an  American 
— born  and  bred  at  Binghamton,  favor 
ably  known  to  you  as  one  of  the  many 


The  Side-Show  115 

literary  centres  of  Western  New  York. 
His  own  actions  will  prove  him  to  be  one 
of  the  few  real  wonders  of  the  age. 
Curtain. 

[Boys  draw  curtains  aside,  revealing 
a  tired  -  looking  individual  who 
sits  staring  sleepily  at  the  audience 
as  though  bored  to  death.  Oc 
casionally  he  yawns  and  stretches 
his  arms  wearily. 

Now,  if  the  audience  will  kindly  pre 
serve  entire  quiet  and  keep  their  eyes 
upon  this  gentleman  they  will  see  some 
thing  that  I  venture  to  say  will  arouse 
their  keenest  interest.  I  have  witnessed 
the  exercise  of  this  man's  strange  gift 
as  many  as  twenty  thousand  times,  I 
should  say,  and  I  have  never  yet  failed 
to  wonder  at  it  myself.  Age  cannot 
wither  nor  custom  stale  its  infinite 
uniquosity.  (Takes  a  copy  of  London 
Punch  from  table  at  his  side.)  You 
see  this  object,  ladies  and  gentlemen. 
It  is  nothing  more  nor  less  than  a  copy 


n6  The  Side-Show 

of  England's  famous  funny  paper. 
(Opening  leaves  and  displaying  the  whole 
paper.)  You  can  see  for  yourselves 
that  it  is  the  real  thing.  It  has  no 
false  backs,  bottoms,  or  sides.  It  con 
tains  no  interpolations  of  any  sort,  and, 
as  you  see  it,  it  is  exactly  as  it  came 
from  the  printing-press  in  London.  I 
hand  it  to  this  gentleman.  (He  does  so. 
Freak  reaches  forward  and  takes  it, 
wearily.)  Now,  sir,  if  you  will  kindly 
begin.  Watch  him  carefully,  everybody. 
One,  two,  three!  (Claps  his  hands.) 
Begin. 

[The  languid  freak  begins  to  read. 
He  gradually  emerges  from  his 
stupor.  The  weary  look  fades 
from  his  face  and  an  eager  in 
terest  comes  into  its  place.  Then 
he  smiles  broadly.  Turns  over  a 
page  and  giggles.  A  moment  later 
he  begins  to  laugh  aloud.  He 
becomes  wholly  alert  and  finally 
goes  off  into  a  perfect  gale  of 


The  Side-Show  117 

laughter,  roaring  aloud  and  slap 
ping  his  knees  with  mirthful  de 
light.  At  the  climax  of  his  hys 
terical  laughter,  Gassaway  calls 
for  the  curtain  and  it  falls  slowly, 
showing  the  freak  in  convulsions  of 
mirth. 

Gassaway.  I  have  travelled  far,  ladies 
and  gentlemen,  but  until  I  encountered 
this  person  I  never  saw  an  American  who 
could  laugh  like  that  over  London  Punch. 
Moreover,  we  have  three  times  had  his 
sanity  tested  by  the  leading  alienists  of 
the  age,  and  in  every  instance  he  has 
been  pronounced  to  be,  in  all  other 
respects,  a  man  of  the  highest  intel 
ligence. 

We  will  now  pass  on,  ladies  and  gen 
tlemen,  to  one  of  the  most  appealing 
phenomena  of  our  show.  You  have  all 
of  you  seen  that  wonderful  creature  in 
the  Barnum  shows  of  the  past,  referred 
to  by  press  agents  and  advertising 
managers  of  that  great  aggregation  as 


ji8  The  Side-Show 

the  most  Stupefying  and  Stupendous 
Stupidity  of  the  Freak  World,  Jo-Jo, 
the  Dog-faced  Boy.  I  think  I  have 
found  his  equal  in  Mo-Mo,  the  Boy  with 
the  Human  Face.  I  found  him  only 
last  summer  on  a  farm  near  Akron, 
Ohio,  living  with  his  parents  and  en 
tirely  unaware  of  his  own  wonderful 
qualities  as  a  freak,  and  you  have  the 
privilege  of  being  the  first  to  whom  I 
have  presented  him.  My  reason  for 
keeping  him  off  the  platform  all  this 
time  has  been  my  desire  to  assure  my 
self  that  the  strange  character  of  his 
face  was  permanent,  and  not  a  mere 
passing  illusion.  Boys'  faces,  as  you 
are  doubtless  aware,  take  on  sudden 
and  disturbing  changes,  and  I  feared 
that  possibly  Mo-Mo  might  be  suscep 
tible  to  those  freaks  of  fortune  which 
would  destroy  his  chief  value  as  an  ex 
hibit  in  a  side-show.  But  as  time  has 
run  along  his  face  has  remained  always 
exactly  as  it  was  when  I  first  saw  him — 


The  Side-Show  119 

intensely  human.     Curtain,  please,  my 
lads. 

[Curtains  are  drawn  and  Mo- Mo 
stands  revealed.  He  may  grin 
or  not,  as  he  pleases,  and,  if  he 
desires  to  wink  at  other  boys  in 
the  audience  in  order  to  give  him 
self  greater  confidence,  there  is  no 
objection  to  his  doing  so.  He 
may  also  make  faces,  but  is  not 
required  to  do  so  at  this  stage  of 
the  proceedings. 

I  shall  be  very  glad  to  have  you  ob 
serve  this  exhibit  very  closely.  Look 
at  the  nose — it  is  just  such  a  nose  as 
you  will  find  upon  a  human  being;  the 
lips  have  that  same  smiling  conforma 
tion  that  you  find  in  creatures  of  your 
own  species  and  the  teeth,  instead  of 
being  tusky  or  mere  fang-shaped  den- 
toids  such  as  you  ordinarily  find  in  the 
lower  orders  of  human  beings,  are  as 
nearly  like  yours  and  mine  as  they  could 
well  be.  The  ears  are  a  trifle  large,  but 


120  The  Side-Show 

perfectly  formed,  with  lobes  and  auric 
ular  passages  precisely  similar  to  our 
own.  The  chin  is  pronounced,  not  miss 
ing  as  in  most  animals,  and  the  fore 
head  is  well  shaped  and  prominent,  not 
low  and  receding  as  you  might  expect. 
Surmounting  the  whole  you  will  see  a 
shock  of  hair  that  is  soft  and  silky,  with 
no  trace  whatever  of  a  bristle.  I  con 
sider  myself  most  fortunate  in  having 
happened  upon  this  boy  with  the  hu 
man  face  before  he  was  snapped  up 
by  others.  His  disposition  is  gentle, 
and  when  he  uses  his  voice  it  is  not  in 
short,  sharp,  jerky  barks  or  yelps,  but  in 
rather  musical,  well-modulated  sounds 
that  bear  a  remarkable  resemblance  to 
spoken  words.  This  I  will  let  you  ob 
serve  for  yourselves.  Mo-Mo,  can  you 
let  us  hear  you  speak? 

Mo-Mo.  Awh,  whatcher  givin'  us? 

Gassaway.  You  see,  ladies  and  gentle 
men,  it  is  as  I  have  said — you  would 
almost  think  he  was  using  human  speech. 


The  Side-Show  121 

"Awh,  whatcher  givin'  us,"  sounds  al 
most  like  the  questioning  of  a  human 
soul  having  like  aspirations  to  our  own. 
Another  trial:  Mo-Mo,  if  some  kind  gen 
tleman  in  the  audience  were  to  offer 
you  a  piece  of  strawberry  shortcake 
and  a  glass  of  ginger -pop,  would  you 
accept  them? 

Mo-Mo.  Betcherlife! 

Gassaway.  A  favorite  expression  of 
Mo-Mo's,  ladies  and  gentlemen,  signify 
ing  assent.  It  resembles  strongly  the 
idiom  used  in  certain  grades  of  human 
society,  employed  to  express  the  emo 
tion  of  entire  certainty,  a  sense  of  un 
questionable  confidence.  This  strange 
little  creature  is  very  gentle  by  nature, 
but  subject  to  sudden  fits  of  indisposi 
tion  about  nine  o'clock  in  the  morning 
during  the  school  season.  From  these 
he  recovers  rapidly,  however,  as  the 
luncheon  hour  approaches,  by  after 
noon  showing  slight  evidences  of  illness, 
if  any.  He  feeds  largely  on  pie  and  the 


122  The  Side-Show 

drum-sticks  of  chicken,  and  it  is  only 
when  he  eats  that  he  betrays  very 
materially  that  animal  nature  the  exist 
ence  of  which  the  human  quality  of  his 
face  seems  to  deny.  Curtain,  boys. 

[The  Boy  with  the  Human  Face 
makes  faces  at  the  curtain  boys, 
and  twiddles  both  thumbs  at  his 
ears  at  the  audience,  making  his 
hands  look  like  bats'  wings  as  the 
curtain  falls  and  the  lecturer  re 
sumes. 

Gassaway.  In  presenting  my  next 
human  wonder,  ladies  and  gentlemen, 
I  feel  that  I  am  making  what  may  be 
called  a  special  appeal  to  the  ladies. 
A  mere  man  will  probably  see  nothing 
extraordinary  in  the  peculiarities  of 
Madame  Panini,  the  Culinary  Curio,  but 
in  the  hearts  of  the  ladies  she  will  un 
questionably  strike  a  responsive  chord. 
I  am  aware  that  I  run  an  especial  risk 
in  exhibiting  her  in  this  particular 
community,  where  creatures  of  her 


The  Side-Show  123 

kind  are  as  scarce  as  Koh-i-noors  in  the 
British  crown,  but  I  warn  you  now  that 
any  attempt  to  get  her  away  from  me 
will  be  met  by  all  the  resistance  on  my 
part  which  the  laws  of  contract  make 
possible.  Madame  Panini,  while  in  no 
sense  a  mere  chattel,  is  for  the  next 
five  years  as  unalterably  my  property 
as  though  she  were  nothing  more  than 
a  grand  piano  which  I  had  bought 
and  paid  for  with  my  own  money.  She 
has  signed  a  cast-iron  contract  which 
gives  to  me  the  exclusive  use  of  her 
services  for  the  coming  five  years. 
There  is  no  loop-hole  of  evasion  left  in 
its  provisions  by  which,  yielding  to  the 
tempting  offers  of  larger  wages — I  pay 
her  five  thousand  dollars  a  week,  the 
exact  sum  which  Madame  Screecherini, 
the  Eminent  Fareweller,  receives  for  dis 
playing  her  lack  of  voice  on  the  vaude 
ville  stage — she  may  endeavor  to  escape 
me.  Hence,  I  should  advise  any  of  you 
who  may  be  inclined  to  make  the  at- 


124  The  Side-Show 

tempt  to  get  her  away  from  mine  into 
your  own  employ,  to  spare  yourselves 
the  pain  of  a  refusal.  Curtain. 

[The  boys  draw  the  curtains  aside  and 
Madame  Panini  is  shown  standing 
on  the  dais.  She  presents  a  pict 
ure  somewhat  resembling  in  its 
general  outlines  the  statuesque  pre 
sentments  of  Minerva  by  the  Greek 
sculptors  of  renown,  only  instead 
of  holding  in  her  hands  the  shield 
and  lance,  with  her  brow  sur 
mounted  by  the  helmet  of  learning, 
she  holds  a  rolling-pin  in  her  left 
hand,  a  frying-pan  is  held  shield- 
wise  in  her  right,  with  her  auburn 
locks  restrained  from  flying  too 
loosely  by  an  inverted  blue  enam- 
elled-ware  kettle,  which  she  wears 
on  her  head,  set  well  back,  with  the 
handle  sticking  out  behind  like  a 
steel-constructed  pigtail. 
This  noble  figure,  ladies  and  gentle 
men,  is  not,  as  you  might  think,  a  rep- 


The  Side-Show  125 

lica  from  the  hands  of  Phidias  of  some 
marvelled  bit  of  sculptuary.  It  is  not 
the  Goddess  Minerva,  the  embodiment 
of  wisdom  of  the  ancients,  but  a  woman 
of  to-day,  Madame  Panini,  until  the 
first  of  last  month  a  cook.  Yes,  ladies 
and  gentlemen,  a  cook!  Gaze  upon  her. 
Feast  your  eyes  upon  her,  and  you  who 
are  now  merely  children,  in  some  future 
age,  remember  to  tell  your  grandchildren 
that  you  have  seen  her.  Your  mothers 
will  tell  you  why  she  must  be  set  down 
as  the  most  unique  product  of  the 
twentieth  century. 

[A  pause. 

Man  in  the  Audience.  I  don't  see  any 
thing  wonderful  in  a  plain  cook. 

Gassaway.  Doubtless  you  don't — you 
are  a  man — but,  as  I  have  said,  Madame 
Panini's  marvellous  qualities  will  appeal 
more  especially  to  the  ladies.  Madame 
Panini  is  a  cook  —  yes;  nothing  won 
derful  in  that,  but  when  I  tell  you 
that  she  has  remained  in  one  place 


126  The  Side-Show 

for  a  period  of  time  exceeding  six 
months — 

Voice  in  Audience.  No — no! 

Gassaway  (taking  a  note  from  his 
pocket  and  reading).  I  will  prove  it  to 
you.  Listen.  "This  is  to  certify  that 
the  bearer  of  this  note,  Bridget  Panini, 
has  been  in  my  employ  as  a  cook  for  the 
past  seven  months,  and  I  have  found  her 
always  sober,  industrious,  obliging,  and 
civil.  She  leaves  me  to  enter  the  un 
rivalled  aggregation  of  amazing  actu 
alities  of  Professor  Gassaway.  Signed, 
Mrs.  J.  Brown-Smythe,  Mount  Vernon, 
N.  Y."  There  it  is,  ladies  and  gentle 
men,  you  may  read  it  for  yourselves. 
(Tosses  letter  into  audience.)  And  any 
one  of  you  who  doubts  its  genuineness 
may  write  to  Mrs.  Brown-Smythe  at  the 
address  there  given,  No.  639  Hobson 
Boulevard,  Mount  Vernon,  N.  Y.  In 
deed,  I  would  suggest  that  a  committee 
of  ladies  be  appointed  after  the  close 
of  the  exhibition  to  communicate  with 


The  Side-Show  127 

Mrs.  Brown-Smythe,  in  case  you  still 
have  doubts.  In  case  you  are  doubtful 
as  to  her  cooking,  I  may  add  that  I  have 
in  my  pocket  one  of  her  most  recent 
fish-balls.  (Takes  tennis  -  ball  painted 
brown  from  his  pocket  and  holds  it  up 
before  audience.}  It  is  perfect  in  con 
tour  (absent-mindedly  bounces  it  upon 
stage,  and  catches  it  in  his  hand  as  it 
bounds  upward)  and  possesses  a  re 
silience  which  I  for  one  have  never 
found — 

Panini.  Whisht,  Misther  Gashaway! 
Can't  yez  cut  it  short?  Me  arms  ache 
wid  holdin'  these  tings. 

Gassaway.  One  moment,  Madame 
Panini — which  I  for  one  have  never 
found  in  any  of  the  fish-balls  I  have 
eaten  in  the  homes  of  the  cultured  and 
refined.  Thank  you  very  much,  Ma 
dame  Panini.  Curtain,  boys. 

[Boys  lower  curtains.  Gassaway  puts 
the  fish-ball  back  into  his  pocket. 

I  would  let  you  taste  the  fish-ball, 


128  The  Side-Show 

ladies  and  gentlemen,  were  it  not  that 
it  is  the  last  of  the  lot,  and  has  already 
been  promised  to  Sawdoff,  the  Russian 
Giant,  for  his  breakfast  to-morrow 
morning.  Madame  Panini's  photo 
graphs  are  on  sale  in  the  lobby  at  the 
meagre  cost  of  ten  cents  apiece. 

[A  pause. 

Gassaway.  Now,  my  friends,  having 
shown  you  a  culinary  wonder  that  can 
be  appreciated  best  by  the  ladies  pres 
ent,  I  feel  that  in  justice  to  the  other 
sex  I  should  present  to  your  attention 
one  who  will  demonstrate  her  chiefest 
value  to  the  gentlemen  in  the  audience. 
Like  a  certain  illustrious  personage,  I  be 
lieve  in  a  square  deal,  and  I  do  not  pro 
pose  that  any  portion  of  this  audience 
shall  go  away  from  here  to-night  feeling 
that  another  portion  of  the  same  au 
dience  has  been  especially  favored  by 
myself.  So  I  have  peculiar  pleasure  in 
presenting  to  you,-  Ignota,  the  Domestic 
Wonder.  She  is  called  Ignota  because 


The  Side-Show  129 

no  one  knows  her  name.  She  signed 
her  contract  with  me  with  the  distinct 
understanding  that  I  should  not  look  at 
the  signature.  Hence  it  is  that,  al 
though  she  is  in  fact  the  most  miracu 
lous  marvel  of  our  age,  even  I  do  not 
know  her  name.  Curtain,  my  good 
lads. 

[The  curtains  are  drawn  and  show 
the  dais  occupied  by  a  pleasant- 
looking  little  lady,  rather  stout, 
smiling  pleasantly  as  she  reads  a 
cook-book.  At  her  side  is  a  waste- 
basket  in  which  repose  a  large 
number  of  letters  and  a  small 
book.  She  holds  likewise  a  small 
child  in  her  lap,  who  is  apparently 
sleeping.  The  child  may  be  a  boy 
or  a  girl,  whichever  happens  to  be 
the  more  convenient  for  the  lady 
impersonating  the  freak.  A  lap- 
dog  must  not  be  used  for  this  scene 
under  any  circumstances. 
Gassaway.  Is  it  not  a  beautiful  spec- 


The  Side-Show 

taclei     Ignota    reading    Mrs.  Maginnis' 
Sixty  Soups,  or  How  to  Live  on  Ten  Hard- 
boiled  Eggs  a  Year,  while  clasped  in  her 
arms    she    holds    her    little    one— little 
Jacky  (or  little  Polly  as  the  case  may  be}. 
Now,  ladies  and  gentlemen,   Ignota  is 
the     Woman     Who     Does     Not     Play 
Bridge.     Just  think  of  it.     Here  is  a 
woman  who  prefers  home  and  husband, 
child,  and  the  cares  of  the  household  to 
that  wondrous   game   which   with    the 
grip  of  the  deadly  Octopus  holds  the 
land  in  its  firm  clutch.     See — as  evi 
dence    of    her    sincerity     (springs    for 
ward  and  seizes  the  waste-basket),   one, 
two,  five,  ten,  twenty,  fifty  invitations 
to  play  Bridge  with  her  neighbors— all 
hurled  unceremoniously  into  the  waste- 
basket.  And  with  them,  what  do  we  find  ? 
This,  ladies  and  gentlemen !    (Takes  book 
out    of    basket,  which    turns    out    to   be 
Elwell  on  Bridge.)     Do  you   recognize 
it,  ladies?     Nothing  more  nor  less  than 
Elwell — and,  like  the  invitations  them- 


The  Side-Show  131 

selves,  tossed  into  the  waste-basket,  with 
a  courage  alongside  of  which  that  of 
Joan  of  Arc  seems  mean  and  trivial. 
You  who  are  husbands,  tell  me  honestly, 
did  you  ever  see  anything  like  this 
either  upon  a  platform  or  in  your  own 
homes?  I  ask  the  ladies  if  in  their 
experience,  either  in  this  town  or  else 
where,  they  have  ever  seen  Ignota's 
equal,  or  a  woman  who  in  this  respect  is 
even  like  her?  I  never  did.  (Takes 
out  handkerchief  and  wipes  his  eyes.) 
Even  my  own  precious  Araminta  is 
absent  this  evening,  even  as  she  was 
last  evening,  and  the  evening  before, 
and  the  evening  before  that,  back 
through  numberless  evenings  until  the 
mind  fails  to  take  them  in,  squandering 
the  vast  earnings  of  this  show  upon  the 
elusive  Grand  Slam,  not  because  she 
likes  it,  but  in  order  to  maintain  her 
social  position  in  the  great  City  of 
Schoharie,  where  we  reside.  Take  one 
more  look  at  her,  friends.  (A  pa^lse.) 


132  The  Side-Show 

A    lovely,     unprecedented     thing!     (A 
pause.)     Curtain,  boys. 

[Usher  hands  note  over  footlights  to 

Gassaway.     He  opens  and  reads 

it,  and  shakes  his  head. 
In  answer  to  the  gentleman  who  has 
sent  me  this  I  would  say  (shaking  Utter 
aloft)  that  Ignota  is  not  a  widow,  and 
therefore  his  most  passionate  proposal 
and  appropriate  offering  of  his  heart  and 
hand,  coupled  with  an  assurance  of  room 
in  his  trunk  for  her  slippers,  must  be 
gratefully  and  regretfully  declined.  I 
do  not  wonder,  however,  at  his  note. 
It  is  no  new  thing.  The  lady  receives 
on  an  average  not  less  than  two  hundred 
and  fifty  offers  of  marriage  per  month, 
but  Mr.  Ignota  is  still  happily  alive.  He 
is  absent  this  evening,  playing  pinochle 
with  a  few  of  his  old  college  friends,  else 
he  also  would  have  appeared  in  this 
beautiful  tableau  of  the  really  happy 
family. 

[A  pause,  during  which  the  audience 


The  Side-Show  133 

is  expected  to  show  its  tremendous 
appreciation  of  the  marvels  of 
Ignota. 

Gassaway.  And  now,  ladies  and  gentle 
men,  as  the  hour  is  growing  late,  I  will 
bring  my  exhibition  to  a  close  with  an 
exhibit  which  I  venture  to  say  makes  a 
fitting  climax  to  an  evening  of  wonder. 
Mademoiselle  Outasighti,  the  Invisible 
Soprano.  She  is  unparalleled,  and  I 
freely  confess  that  I  do  not  understand 
her  myself.  Unlike  most  sopranos,  she 
is  absolutely  invisible  to  the  naked  eye. 
Nordica,  Eames,  Sembrich,  Melba — all 
these  great  ladies  are  marvels  in  their 
way,  but  every  one  of  them  when  they 
appear  on  the  stage  can  be  clearly  seen 
with  or  without  the  use  of  opera-glasses, 
but  Outasighti,  the  Invisible  Soprano, 
has  never  yet  been  beheld  by  mortal 
man  or  woman.  Curtain,  boys. 

[Boys  draw  curtains  to  one  side  and 
reveal  the  dais  apparently  un 
occupied. 


134  The  Side-Show 

There  she  is,  ladies  and  gentlemen. 
Good-evening,  Mademoiselle. 

A  Voice.  Good  -  evening,  Mr.  Gassa- 
way. 

Gassaway.  I  trust  you  are  feeling  in 
fine  voice  this  evening. 

A  Voice.  I  am  slightly  hoarse,  Mr. 
Gassaway,  but  I  think  I  shall  be  able 
to  undertake  the  work  required  of  me 
provided  there  are  no  encores. 

Gassaway.  Mademoiselle  Outasighti 
requests  that  there  be  no  encores,  ladies 
and  gentlemen,  because  she  is  suffering 
from  hoarseness. 

Man  in  the  Audience.  I  can't  see  her. 

Gassaway.  Of  course   you  can't,   sir. 
If  you  could  she  would  not  be  invisible. 
That  is  the  strange  thing,  sir,  about  the 
lady.      Now    Mademoiselle   Outasighti, 
may  we  have  a  simple  little  ballade — 
something  like — ah — Oh,  Promise  Me? 
A   Voice.  With  great  pleasure,  sir. 
[A  piano  is  played  and  Mademoiselle 
Outasighti  sings  Oh,  Promise  Me, 


The  Side-Show  135 

at  conclusion  of  which  the  boys  let 
the  curtain  fall. 

Gassaway.  Ladies  and  gentlemen,  I 
thank  you  for  your  kind  attention,  and, 
as  a  special  mark  of  my  appreciation  of 
your  courtesy,  let  me  hand  you  all 
photographs,  free  of  charge,  of  this 
greatest  of  all  wonders,  Mademoiselle 
Outasighti,  the  Invisible  Soprano. 

[Throws  a  large  number  of  blank 
cards  to  all  parts  of  the  auditorium, 
bows,  and  the  main  curtain  falls. 
In  response  to  the  applause  which 
ought  to  follow,  whether  it  does  or 
not,  the  curtain  again  rises,  dis 
closing  all  the  freaks  standing  in 
a  row,  with  Gassaway  proudly 
smiling  in  the  centre,  with  a 
blank  space  at  his  right,  pre 
sumably  occupied  by  the  invisible 
Mademoiselle  Outasighti. 

THE    END 


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